l^ 

) 


^ 


i" 


Ck^ 


61P1 


Estate   oPFreorge   D.BlootJ 
Class   of    1892 


THE 
COMPLEAT  BACHELOR 


^When  the  Rain  raineth  and  the  Goose  winketh. 
Little  wots  the  Gosling  what  the  Goose  thinketh,* 


-*. 


1     >  >^  >  >  > 
>      >   J  '  >  > 


THE  ^ 

COMPLEAT| 

BACHELOR J 

m *' 

Oliver  Onions  I^jo^ie^. 


p  NEW  YORK 

f  Frederick  A.  Stokes 
P  Company 

id 

r  Publishers 


#######d:|i-^..^.,,. 


=6'/^^^  / 


•         »   •      •      r» 


Copyright,  1900 
by  Harper  ^  Brothers 

Copyright,  1901 
hy  Frederick  A.  Stokes  Co, 


¥ 


^^ 


^/^;; 


TO 
FRANK  GELETT  BURGESg 

THESE  UNPREMEDITATIONS  WERE 
AND  ARE  INSCRIBED 


fi 


^Sr^^5S93 


Digitized  by  the  Internet  Archive 

in  2007  with  funding  from 

IVIicrosoft  Corporation 


http://www.archive.org/details/compleatbachelorOOoniorich 


EPISODES. 


PAGK 

I.   SUGAR  AND  LEMON 1 

II.   A  HYPOTHETICAL  CASE 10 

III.  A  MILITARY  MANCEUVRE *. 21 

IV.  A  CHILDREN'S  PARTY 32 

V.   THE  IDEAL  IN  PERIL 47 

VI.   A  CORNER  IN  TREACLE 58 

VII.  THREE  'S  COMPANY 69 

VIII.   A  VETERAN  RECRUIT 81 

IX.  THE  ETHICS  OF  ANGLING 97 

X.  AN  UNDRESS  REHEARSAL 109 

XI.  QUEEN  OF  LOVE  AND  BEAUTY 122 

XIL  A  MODERN   SABINE 137 

Xni.  POT  LUCK 150 

XrV.  THE  THINGS  THAT  ARE  C^SAR'S 165 

XV.  SETTLING  DAY 179 


THE  COMPLEAT  BACHELOR 
I 

SUGAR    AND   LEMON 

"  Perhaps,  RoUo,"  said  my  sister  (Caro- 
line Butterfield,  spinster),  "you  would 
like  to  go  on  to  your  club,  and  call  for 
me  in  an  hour  or  so.  There  will  only  be 
women,  I  expect." 

"  Carrie,"  I  replied,  "  your  consideration 
does  you  credit  ;  but  no  company  that  you 
may  enter  is  too  bad  for  me.  I  insist  on 
accompanying  you.  It  is  my  first  duty  as 
a  brother." 

Carrie  laughed. 

"I  believe  you  like  it,  Eol,"  she  said. 
"Molly  Chatterton  says  Loring  says  you 
never  go  to  a  club  if  you  can  have  tea  with 
a  married  woman." 

"It   is   the  one   reward  of  a  blameless 

reputation,"    I  replied ;  "  but  that  Loring 

1 


2        THE  COMPLEAT  BACHELOR 

Chatterton  should  say  so  is  rank  ingrati- 
tude, considering  his  own  ante-nuptial  rec- 
ord.    Rank  ingratitude." 

We  dismounted  together  at  Millicent 
Dixon's  door,  and  were  admitted  to  the 
hall.  Carrie  gave  my  necktie  an  attentive 
little  tug,  slapped  my  cheek  (Carrie  is 
justly  proud  of  her  middle-aged  brother, 
and  likes  to  show  him  off  to  advantage), 
and  preceded  me  into  Millie  Dixon's 
drawing-room.  Some  half-dozen  ladies 
were  engaged  in  the  usual  five-o'clock  flir- 
tation with  tea  and  cake,  and  contributing 
to  the  feminine  hum  which  didn't  subside 
in  the  least  as  we  entered. 

"  He  would  come,  Millie,"  said  Caroline, 
after  a  cross-over  kiss  on  both  cheeks, 
"  but  you  can  lean  him  up  in  a  corner  and 
give  him  some  tea  to  keep  him  quiet." 

This  from  my  own  flesh  and  blood  ! 

Millie  Dixon  gave  me  a  laughing  nod 
over  her  shoulder,  and  busied  herself  pre- 
paring the  cup  that  should  have  the  effect 
Carrie  suggested.  I  sat  down,  and  com- 
posed myself  to  listen  to  the  restful  chatter 
that    was    supposed   not   to  interest    me. 


SUGAR  AND  LEMON  3 

Mrs.  Loring  Chatterton,  at  my  side,  was 
rippling  gently  on  the  subject  of  a  School  of 
Art  Needlework  Exhibition,  while  Carrie 
and  Mrs.  Carmichael  talked  Marshall  and 
Snelgrove  to  Cicely  Vicars  and  Mrs. 
Julian  Joyce.  I  have  no  disdain  for  ladies' 
babble — it  is  quite  as  entertaining  as  start- 
ing-price and  stock-exchange  gossip,  and 
much  prettier.  But  I  couldn't  get  Chat- 
terton's  remark  out  of  my  mind. 

"Cream  or  lemon,  Mr.  Butterfield?" 
called  Miss  Dixon  from  the  other  side  of 
the  room. 

"  Yes,  if  you  please,"  I  answered  absently, 
while  Miss  Dixon  looked  a  deprecating 
query  as  to  when  I  should  be  sensible.  I 
roused,  and  turned  to  Mrs.  Loring  Chatter- 
ton. 

'-^  Where  is  Loring  to-day  ? "  I  asked. 

"  Oh,  I  don't  know,"  she  replied.  "  I 
told  him  I  shouldn't  want  him  this  after- 
noon, so  he  said  he  would  count  the  dreary 
hours  till  joy  returned.  I  expect  he  went 
to  count  them  at  some  club." 

"  Loring  always  was  ardent,"  I  remarked, 
looking    meditatively    into    my    cup.     "I 


4        THE  COMPLEAT  BACHELOR 

seem  to  remember  tliat  kind  of  thing  from 
Loring  before.  Long  before  you  knew  him, 
Mrs.  Chatterton." 

"What  do  you  mean,  Mr.  Butterfield?" 

"  Nothing,  my  dear  Mrs.  Chatterton,"  I 
replied.  "  Nothing  out  of  the  way.  But 
you  don't  suppose  that  Loring  had  the  good 
fortune  to  happen  on  the  perfect  gem  with- 
out— what  shall  I  say  ? — preliminary  pros- 
pecting ? " 

Mrs.  Chatterton  and  I  are  old  friends. 
She  laughed. 

"Do  you  think  you  can  make  me  in- 
quisitive, Mr.  Butterfield?  I  know  all 
about  that.  Why,  I  made  Loring  tell 
me  every " 

It  was  my  turn  to  laugh. 

"  Then  there  is  nothing  more  to  say,"  I 
answered.  "  Loring  is  my  friend — he  has 
claims  upon  me.  He  has,  doubtless,  given 
himself  quite  away,  and  half  his  bachelor 
friends  into  the  bargain.  I  think  I  see 
him  doing  it.  Isn't  that  a  pretty  gown 
Carrie  is  wearing  ?     I  chose  it  for  her." 

"  Loring  told  me  a  great  deal,"  said  Mrs. 
Chatterton  musingly. 


SUGAR  AND  LEMON  5 

"  The  buttons  are  from  her  grandmotlier's 
wedding-gown." 

"And  he  was  so  clumsy  and  boyish," 
she  continued. 

Words  were  superfluous.     I  smiled. 

"Anyway,"  Mrs.  Loring  went  on,  "I 
don't  think  it  fair.  Men  have  half  a  dozen 
flirtations  before  they  are  married  their 
wives  know  nothing  about." 

"  And    women,   Mrs.    Chatterton  ?  "  I 
asked. 

"  Some  women,  Mr.  Butterfield,  may  not 
be  scrupulous.     But " 

The  unfinished  sentence  was  a  resume  of 
female  virtue  since  the  days  of  Penelope. 

"  What  are  you  two  so  interested  in  ? " 
cried  Mrs.  Carmichael  from  a  remote  sofa. 
I  had  just  caught  her  eye. 

Mrs.  Loring  placed  her  hand  beseechingly 
on  my  sleeve,  but  I  hardened  my  heart. 

"  We  were  recalling  the  time,  Mrs.  Kit," 
I  replied,  "before  your  several  husbands 
were  enticed  from  the  liberty  of  bachelor 
life  ;  we  were  commenting  on  the  change 
in  them." 

"  You  should  be  able  to  appreciate  the 


6        THE  COMPLEAT  BACHELOR 

difference,  Mr.  Butterfield,"  returned  Mrs. 
Carmicliael.  "You  are  just  where  they 
left  you  years  and  years  ago." 

"  Yes,  ma'am,"  I  replied, "  I  have  not  been 
able  to  buiy  my  memory  in  the  wedding- 
service,  nor  forget  my  past  in  a  honeymoon. 
I  am  still  as  unregenerate  as,  say,  Kit 
Carmichael  was  before  he  met  you." 

"  You  are  a  great  deal  worse,"  returned 
Mrs.  Kit. 

"  You  refuse  a  very  pretty  compliment, 
Mrs.  Carmichael,"  I  replied. 

"  Yes,  at  Kit's  expense.  It  was  you  who 
made  Kit  as  bad  as  he  was.  He  told  me 
so." 

The  perfidy  of  these  married  friends  ! 
Eol  Butterfield,  you  have  no  use  for  them 
when  they  sacrifice  you  on  their  nuptial 
altars.  Their  eyes  lost  their  singleness 
with  their  hearts,  and  your  reputation  has 
gone  for  a  kiss.  Well,  you  have  your  re- 
venge on  their  wives,  if  you  care  to  use  it." 

The  spark  of  righteous  war  was  kindled 
within  me.  I  leaned  forward,  and  spoke 
my  speech  with  icy  distinctness. 

"So  I  am  responsible  for  Carmichael's 


SUGAR  AND  LEMON  7 

past,  am  I,  Mrs.  Kit  ?  Listen  to  me.  There 
was  not  a  more  abandoned  and  desperately- 
wicked  trio  in  London  than  Kit  Carmichael 
— ^your  meek  brother,  Miss  Dixon — and 
Loring " 

Mrs.  Chatterton  endeavoured  to  stop  me 
with  a  hot  teaspoon  laid  on  my  hand,  but 
I  still  testified. 

"  And  Loring  Chattertpn.  Not  content 
with  steeping  their  OAvn  souls  in  infamy,  they 
must  needs  go  afield,  and  corrupt  the 
spotless  name  of  one — oh,  Carrie,  Carrie, 
what  your  poor  brother  has  suffered  !  And 
now  to  be  told  in  his  old — his  middle — 
age  that  he  did  it  all ! " 

Mrs.  Kit  and  Cicely  Vicars  had  put  their 
heads  together,  and  were  endeavouring  to 
put  aside  the  damning  testimony  in  mock 
admiration  of  the  dramatic  skill  with  which 
it  was  uttered.  Cicely  Vicars  had  best 
be  very  careful.  I  was  to  be  leaned  up  in 
a  corner  and  given  tea,  was  I  ? 

"  Doesn't  Mr.  Butterfield  look  well  with 
the  light  behind  him?"  said  Mrs.  Vicars 
with  a  pretty  gesture  of  her  hand.  Mrs. 
Vicars  paints  flowers,  and  asks  her  friends 


8        THE  COMPLEAT  BACHELOR 

what  they  would  really  like  for  wedding 
presents. 

"  Mr.  Butterfield  may  have  the  Light  be- 
hind him,  Mrs.  Vicars,"  I  replied,  "  but  he 
has  no  regrets  for  a  misspent  youth.  Charlie 
Vicars  wasted  his  youth  most  shamefully. 
Mornings  in  the  park,  with  a  young  lady 
in  a  pink  frock — is  that  not  so,  Mrs.  Lor- 
ing?" 

I  turned  to  her  suddenly. 

"  It  was  a  green  frock,"  said  Mrs.  Lor- 
ing  thoughtlessly ;  then  turned  quite  pink. 
It  was  a  pretty  situation.  Loring  might 
have  treasured  that  blush.     I  was  avenged. 

Millicent  Dixon  came  to  the  rescue. 

"Carrie,  dear,"  she  said,  "you  are  the 
only  one  who  has  any  influence  over  that 
irrepressible  man.  Do  gag  him  for  a  few 
minutes ;  "  and  passed  over  a  plate  of 
gaufrettes,  which  Carrie  brought  to  me. 

I  held  the  plate  to  Mrs.  Loring  Chat- 
terton,  who,  a  reminiscence  of  fun  still  in 
her  eyes,  accepted  the  peace-oif  ering  with  a 
warning  shake  of  her  head. 

"Mr.  Butterfield,"  she  said,  "you never 
were  anything  but  mischievous,  and   it's 


SUGAR  AND  LEMON  9 

my  opinion  yon  never  will  be.  Oh,  I  wish 
I  conld  get  you  off  my  bands.  There  are 
plenty  of  nice  girls.  Look  at  Millie  there," 
she  whispered. 

"  Mrs.  Loring,"  I  replied,  "  once  upon  a 
time  there  was  a  fox,  who  was  caught  in 
a  trap,  and  had  his  tail  cut  off.  After 
that " 

"Ah  well,  I  suppose  you  know  your 
own  mind.  But,  Mr.  Butterfield  " — she 
leaned  over,  and  spoke  quite  low — "I 
believe  you  make  out  your  young  days — 
and  Loring's — to  have  been  much  worse 
than  they  were.     Do  you  not,  now  ? " 

Mrs.  Loring  had  a  little  beauty-spot  on 
her  conscience  which  she  thought  was  a 
stain. 


10   THE  COMPLEAT  BACHELOR 


II 

A   HYPOTHETICAL  CASE 

Careie  and  I  were  placidly  surveying, 
from  either  end  of  my  little  dining-table, 
the  creditable  wreck  we  had  made  of  a 
rather  neat  little  dinner.  Carrie  never 
disdains  this  hour  of  the  animal,  at  what- 
ever table  fortune  shall  place  her;  and 
when  she  does  me  the  honour  to  dine 
with  me,  she  generally  pays  me  the  com- 
pliment  of  evident  enjoyment.  It  is  a 
feature  I  admire  in  her. 

I  was  making  leisurely  coffee  arrange- 
ments with  my  lastest  bachelor  acquisi- 
tion, a  pretty  little  silver  and  spirit  affair, 
that  did  not  necessitate  rising  from  a  com- 
fortable seat ;  while  my  sister  purred  in 
soft  content.  I  moved  the  shaded  lamp 
aside  to  see  her  better — Carrie  is  a  very 


A  HYPOTHETICAL  CASE  11 

presentable  young  woman ;  I  tliought  lier 
arms  decidedly  pretty. 

"  I  think,  Rol,"  she  said,  as  I  looked  care- 
fully to  the  coffee,  "  I  think — we  will  not 
grace  the  theatre  this  evening.  It 's  such 
a  wet  night,  and  I  'm  so  comfy  here." 

I  could  hear  the  rain  without  getting 
up.  It  was  a  wet  night ;  and  she  did  look 
comfy. 

"  Very  well,  my  dear  sister,"  I  replied. 
"  As  you  please.  It  will  save  me  a  sover- 
eign, unless  you  succeed  in  coaxing  it  out 
of  me  during  the  evening,  which  I  have  no 
doubt  is  your  real  motive." 

"  No,  Kol,  really  I  don't  want " 

"  Not  enough,  eh  ?  Haven't  got  it,  my 
dear — this  is  good  coffee,  Caroline, — I  'm 
really  as  poor  as  Hooley.  There,  that's 
right.  Kummel  avec^  n'est  ce  pas^  my 
dear?" 

"  Please.  No,  Rol,  we  '11  sit  here  and  be 
nice  all  the  evening.  I  '11  bring  my  writing 
in — may  I  ? " 

I  was  only  half  convinced  it  wasn't 
money ;  she  was  after  something.  Carrie's 
writing  is  her  one  affectation,  with  which 


12      THE  COMPLEAT  BACHELOR 

exception  slie  is  as  sane  as  would  be  ex- 
pected of  my  sister. 

I  believe  it  was  a  modern  comedy  which 
was  then  occupying  the  years  of  her  youth, 
and  whose  production  was  to  be  the  crown 
of  her  old  age.  She  worked  at  it  intermit- 
tently, that  is  to  say,  when  there  were  no 
calls  to  receive  or  to  be  made,  when  she  could 
find  nobody  to  take  her  to  a  theatre  or  a 
garden-party,  when  there  were  no  women 
to  gossip  with,  or  men  to  fascinate — when- 
ever, in  short,  she  felt  dull.  But  of  late 
she  had  seemed  to  recover  interest  in  it — 
had  recast  it,  she  said. 

"Bring  it  in,  by  all  means,"  I  replied, 
"  but  bring  a  dictionary  as  well ;  I  'm  not 
absolute  in  spelling." 

"  Thank  you,  Rollo." 

Why  the  deuce  was  she  so  uncommonly 
polite?  She  usually  announced  that  she 
was  going  to  spend  the  evening  with  me  in 
much  less  considerate  terms.  I  shook  my 
head  apprehensively. 

When  dinner  was  removed  Carrie  disap- 
peared, and  presently  re-entered  with  an 
armful  of  comedy  and  a  mouthful  of  quill 


A  HYPOTHETICAL  CASE  13 

pens.  She  made  a  clean  sweep  of  my  desk 
and  settled  herself  with  many  quirks  and 
little  graces  before  the  recast  masterpiece. 
I  gravely  asked  her  permission  to  smoke, 
and  she,  smiling  at  the  superfluity  of  the 
question,  bowed  a  ceremonious  assent ;  then 
got  down  to  business,  and  chewed  a  pink 
knuckle  in  the  stress  of  composition. 

I  put  my  feet  upon  a  chair,  lighted  a 
cigar,  and  looked  alternately  at  the  fire  and 
at  Caroline.  She  made  my  room  appear 
very  comfortable,  with  her  evening  frock 
and  pretty  airs.  She  was  an  excellent 
housekeeper,  and  kept  my  half  of  our  little 
flat  almost  as  dainty  as  her  own.  We  got 
along  very  cosily,  Carrie  and  I — for  a  sister, 
she  behaved  very  well  indeed.  She  could 
have  the  sovereign  if  she  wanted  it ;  I  only 
hoped  it  was  no  worse. 

By  and  by  Carrie  looked  up  meditatively, 
started  on  a  fresh  knuckle,  and  then  turned 
to  me. 

^*  What  do  men  talk  about  after  dinner, 
Rol,  when  the  women  have  left  ? "  she 
asked. 

I  looked  t^t  her  curiously  and  smiled. 


14   THE  COMPLEAT  BACHELOR 

''  No,  Rollo,"  she  said,  "  I  don't  mean — 
I  mean,  what  do  they  talk  about  ? " 

"  Oh  ! "  I  replied,  "  what  do  they  really 
talk  about,  eh  ? " 

"  Yes.     I  want  to  put  it  in  the  play." 

"You  want  to  put  it  in  the  play  %  Let 
me  see."  I  considered  a  moment.  "  Well, 
after  the  first  grief  at  the  loss  of  the  ladies, 
their  hands  go  instinctively  to  their  hair, 
to  feel  how  they  have  looked.  If  there  is 
a  mirror  handy  they  flock  to  it.  They 
then  sit  down,  look  wistfully  at  the  empty 
chairs,  and  fold  their  hands  patiently,  to 
await  the  earliest  moment  that  they  may 
rejoin  their  bereft  partners." 

"  Don't  be  absurd,  Rol,"  answered  Carrie. 
"  I  want  to  know.  I  Ve  got  a  man  here, 
who  is  to  talk  after  dinner.  He  's  in  love 
with  a  girl  he  's  been  sitting  next,  and  I 
want  him  to  say  pretty  things  about  her." 

Happy,  happy  innocence !  dear  simple 
Carrie  !  Should  I  be  the  one  to  destroy  so 
sweet  an  illusion  ?    Never ! 

I  was  intensely  amused,  but  I  replied 
thoughtfully : 

"I   should  think  in   the   first  place   it 


A  HYPOTHETICAL  CASE  15 

would  depend  a  good  deal  on  the  man — 
and  the  girl.     What  are  they  like  ?  " 

^'  He  's  a  soldier,"  said  Carrie,  looking 
timidly  down  at  her  manuscript.  "That 
is,  he  has  not  seen  any  active  service,  but 
he 's  simply  thirsting  to  do  some  brave 
deed  that  shall  show  her  how  he  loves 
her." 

"  Yes,"  I  said,  much  interested.  "  A 
carpet  knight ;  how  old  ?  " 

"  He  's  about  f our-and-twenty,  I  believe  ; 
and  he  's  not  a  carpet  knight.  He  's  very 
good,  and  clever,  and  noble.  He  's  sup- 
posed to  be  dining  at  his  married  sister's, 
and  has  to  entertain  the  men  with  bril- 
liant talk." 

If  I  didn't  know  that  noble  young  soldier, 
I  would  never  look  on  daylight  again  ! 

"Black  hair?"  I  said. 

"  Yes,"  replied  Carrie  promptly.  "  That 
is — I  don't  know.     I  haven't  decided  yet." 

I  leaned  back  in  my  chair  to  recover 
from  the  shock.  This,  then,  was  what 
made  her  so  loving  to  her  brother.  This 
was  the  "  nice  evening  "  we  were  to  have. 
She  had  a  secret  which  pricked  her  con- 


16   THE  COMPLEAT  BACHELOR 

science.  She  was  going  to  be  nice  to  me 
for  the  time  remaining.  I  might  have 
known  she  didn't  visit  Mrs.  Loring  Chat- 
terton  for  nothing.  A  soldier  to  run  oif 
with  my  housekeeper !  She  had  recast  the 
play  with  a  vengeance  ;  I  was  to  play  the 
good  brother's  part. 

I  shut  my  eyes. 

"  Well,  Kol  ?  "  said  Carrie.  She  had  evi- 
dently not  noticed  my  state.  She  didn't 
know  I  knew. 

"  Let  me  think,"  I  replied,  "  let  me 
think." 

I  was  not  allowed  to  think ;  a  tap  at  the 
door  roused  me,  and  two  visitors  were  an- 
nounced. In  came  Loring  Chatterton,  and 
the  young  brother-in-law  himself.  I  had  to 
admit  he  was  a  not  unprepossessing  young 
warrior. 

"How  do  you  do.  Miss  Butterfield?" 
came  simultaneously  from  my  two  guests, 
while  Carrie  rose,  putting  aside  her  manu- 
script.    I  greeted  them  from  my  chair. 

"  I  am  afraid  we  interrupt  your  writing, 

Miss  Butterfield,"  said  Loring,  sitting  down. 

"  Oh  no,  Mr.  Chatterton,"  Caroline  replied. 


A  HYPOTHETICAL  CASE  17 

"As  a  matter  of  fact  I  was  rather  stuck 
when  you  came  in." 

"  Yes,  Loring,"  I  interposed,  "  Carrie  was 
rather  stuck  when  you  came  in.  Perhaps 
we  shall  be  able  to  help  her,  eh,  Bassi- 
shaw?" 

"Delighted,"  replied  Bassishaw;  "but 
I  'm  afraid,  do  you  know,  that  I  haven't 
much  of  a  head  on  me  for  that  sort  of  thing, 
Miss  Butterfield." 

"Rollo "  began  Carrie. 

"  Oh,  he  '11  do,  Carrie,"  I  replied.  "  Car- 
oline wants  to  know,  Bassishaw,  what  a 
young  man,  good,  clever,  and — let  me  see 
— was  he  noble,  Carrie  ?  Yes,  I  believe  he 
was  noble,  and — a  brilliant  talker  " — (I  had 
him  there) — "  a  brilliant  talker,  would  say 
after  dinner  about  the  girl  he  thought  he 
loved." 

Carrie  was  helpless.  I  had  not  given 
her  away,  and  she  did  not  dare  to  protest 
for  fear  of  doing  so  herself.  She  had  a 
secret — I  also  had  a  secret.  I  would  keep 
the  case  strictly  hypothetical. 

"  "Well,  Miss  Butterfield,"  began  the  hero 
who  was  thirsting  to  do  some  brave  deed. 


18   THE  COMPLEAT  BACHELOR 

^^  I  'm  hanged,  do  you  know,  if  I  know  wkat 
lie  'd  say.  He  'd  talk  a  lot  of  piffle,  wouldn't 
he — oh,  but  he 's  a  brilliant  sort  of  chap. 
He  'd — oh,  hang  it,  Loring,  what  would  he 
say  ?     I  don't  know." 

I  chuckled  softly.  I  didn't  want  to  hear 
Loring;  I  wanted  to  hear  the  brilliant 
talker.     It  was  for  Carrie's  benefit. 

"  But  if  he  really  loved  her,"  I  said,  "  and 
his  eloquence  came  out  in  a  torrent  ?  " 

"  Oh,  I  see.  Well,  I  expect  he  'd  say  she 
was  a  confounded  nice  girl — or  something — 
pretty  and  all  that,  you  know — and  he  'd 
row  any  chap  who  said  she  wasn't ;  don't 
you  think,  eh  ?  But  why  the  deuce  should 
he  say  anything  ? " 

Bassishaw  was  coming  out  of  it  with 
more  credit  than  I  thought.  I  laughed, 
and  even  Carrie  had  to  laugh  too. 

"  I  think,"  said  Chatterton,  "  that 's  about 
as  much  as  he  could  say,  unless  he  were  an 
ass.  I  can't  imagine  his  saying  much  if 
you  were  there,  Kollo." 

"  No,"  said  Bassishaw.  "  You  are  a  mis- 
chievous sort  of  Johnny,  you  know.  Butter- 
field.    You  're  deuced  hard  on  young  chaps ; 


A  HYPOTHETICAL  CASE  19 

you  guy  them  awfully,  you  know.  I  expect 
you  Ve  forgotten  all  that." 

Thus  unconsciously,  was  Bassishaw  re- 
venged. I  was  hard  on  young  chaps.  I 
had  forgotten,  you  know.  I  was  an  old 
fossil,  or  something.  But  I  had  a  sister, 
deuced  nice  girl,  pretty,  and  all  that.  You 
have  to  keep  in  with  Johnnies  like  that,  you 
know. 

One  thing  I  must  know.  Did  this  plain- 
spoken  young  man  of  the  sword  care  for 
Carrie  ?  This  was  soon  evident  from  his 
conciliatory  manner  toward  me.  No  one 
ever  goes  out  of  the  way  to  consider  me 
unless  he  wants  something.  Bassishaw  was 
most  attentive. 

"  By  the  way,  Butterfield,"  he  said  after 
a  while, "  are  you  engaged  for  Tuesday 
afternoon  ?  Because  if  you  're  not,  do  you 
know,  my  folks  are  giving  a  sort  of  garden- 
party,  or  something.  There'll  be  lots  of 
people  of  your  sort — '"(my  sort !) — "  coming 
— clever,  and  all  that,  you  know ;  I  thought 
you  might  care  to  come.  I  '11  get  them  to 
ask  you,  if  you  like.  And  Miss  Butterfield, 
too ;  Chatterton  here  is  coming,  and  he  '11 


20   THE  COMPLEAT  BACHELOR 

look  after  you,  you  know,  Butterfield. 
What  do  you  say  ? " 

I  turned  to  Carrie. 

"  I  think  we  might  go,  Rol,"  she  said. 
"  I  like  to  meet  clever  people." 

I  thought  a  moment. 

"  I  don't  know,  Bassishaw,"  I  replied — 
"  that  I  care  to  meet  people  of — er — my  sort, 
much.  But  if  Carrie  cares  to  go,  I  '11  look 
after  her.  It  ma}^  be  of  use  to  her — in  a 
literary  way.     Thank  you." 

I  wouldn't  have  missed  that  garden-party 
for  a  good  deal. 


A  MILITARY  MANCEUVRE  21 


III 


A  MILITARY  MANCEUVRE 

I  HAD  feigned  to  change  my  mind  several 
times  with  regard  to  Bassishaw's  garden- 
party,  but  Carrie  had  suddenly  developed 
accentuated  ideas  on  the  subject  of  engage- 
ment-keeping. 

"  We  promised,  you  know,  Eol,"  she  said, 
^'  and  it  would  look  so  bad  to  run  off.  I 
don't  suppose  it  will  be  much  fun,"  she 
added  candidly. 

She  was  mistaken.  It  would  be  great 
fun. 

On  the  way  thither  I  entertained  her 
blandly  on  the  subject  of  unmarried  life.  I 
pointed  out  to  her  the  advantages  of  a  broth- 
er and  sister  living  happily  together,  as,  say, 
in  our  own  case.  I  argued  on  the  holy  bonds 
of  kinship,  and  congratulated  her  on  having 
a  brother  who  would  devote  the  whole  of 


22   THE  COMPLEAT  BACHELOU 

his  life  to  making  lier  comfortable.  How 
happy  we  were  ! 

Carrie  moved  uneasily  in  her  seat.  She 
endeavoured  to  change  the  subject.  Her 
conscience  wrought  within  her — she  was  a 
guilty  traitor,  and  deceiving  the  kindest  of 
brothers.  Had  she  been  less  in  love,  she 
might  have  suspected  something,  as  I  con- 
tinued in  the  same  strain  ;  but  such  is  not 
the  way  of  youth.  Her  arts  might  have 
been  transparent  to  me  for  months  and 
months,  yet  she  would  at  last  break  the 
great  secret  with  most  delicious  gentleness, 
in  stammers  and  blushes,  and  I  would  show 
a  dramatic  surprise  and  shock.  We  see 
other  people's  progress,  but  our  own  love 
affairs  are  always  unguessed. 

It  was  a  great  relief  to  Carrie  when  we 
arrived  at  the  Bassishaws'.  The  strain  was 
getting  embarrassing.  A  straight  military 
young  figure  had  evidently  been  on  the 
look-out  for  our  conveyance,  for  he  made 
several  false  starts,  and  almost  supplanted 
the  more  ceremonious  reception  due  from 

JL 

his  mother.  This  little  formality  through, 
he  pounced  on  us  at  once. 


A  MILITARY  MANOEUVRE         23 

"  How  d  'ye  do,  Miss  Butterfield  ?  "  Do, 
Butterfield  ? "  he  said  warmly.  "So  glad 
you  Ve  come." 

"  Thank  you,"  I  replied.  "  I  was  rather 
afraid  I  'd  have  to  let  Carrie  come  alone, 
but  I  managed  to  arrange  it." 

A  shade  of  regret  was  visible  in  his 
eyes,  but  he  bore  it  nicel}^  He  is  "  white," 
as  Carmichael  would  have  said. 

"  Of  course,"  he  said,  "  Miss  Butterfield 
would  have  been  all  right,  you  know,  but 
I  'ra  glad  you  came  too." 

I  believe  he  was.  Saying  so  seemed  to 
make  him  so. 

We  walked  up  the  garden,  I  in  the 
middle.  Carrie  received  an  occasional  bow, 
but  we  didn't  know  many  people  there. 
This  was  young  Bassishaw's  excuse  for 
conducting  us  personally,  and  he  pointed 
out  various  people  as  "  men  you  ought  to 
know,  you  know,  Butterfield."  I  betrayed 
no  great  desire  for  the  acquaintanceship. 
I  was  not  to  be  shaken  off. 

Bassishaw  was  piloting  us  into  the  most 
frequented  parts.  This  young  man  was 
manoeuvring,  with  more  skill  than  I  had 


24   THE  COMPLEAT  BACHELOR 

given  him  credit  for,  to  drop  me.  Carrie 
had  my  arm,  and  as  Bassishaw  stopped  at 
the  various  groups  I  made  surer  of  it  by  a 
little  closing  in  of  my  elbow.  He  had  the 
advantage  of  a  tactician's  knowledge,  but 
I  had  the  larger  experience.  He  led  us 
towards  the  base  of  operations,  the  refresh- 
ment tent,  where  he  calculated  to  play  on 
the  natural  interest  I  should  take  in  the 
commissariat  department.  He  gave  me  a 
hint  of  a  private  canteen — it  was  good 
strategy,  I  was  very  thirsty — but  I  held 
out.  He  showed  a  great  desire  to  introduce 
me  to  personages,  but  I  replied  to  his  big 
guns  with  a  harassing  fire  of  conversational 
small-arms.  He  really  did  very  well,  and 
my  respect  for  him  increased.  Personal 
strategy  was  his  line,  but  I  held  him  in 
the  field  of  mental  manoeuvres. 

He  had  pointed  out  some  snowy-whis- 
kered old  general,  and  had  held  forth  in 
his  redundant  way  on  the  fascinating  per- 
sonality of  the  man.  I  made  him  a  text 
for  an  army  discourse. 

"  Do  you  know,  Bassishaw,"  I  said,  "  I 
cannot   sufficiently    admire    you   military 


A  MILITARY  MANCEUVRE  25 

men.  You  are  the  outposts  of  a  nation, 
who  make  all  that  is  happy  and  peaceful 
at  home  possible.  You  sacrifice  yourselves 
on  inaccessible  Indian  hills,  you  scorch 
under  African  suns,  while  all  you  love  is 
left  behind  you  in  England.  You  do  not 
marry — that  is,  the  true  soldier  thinks  it 
inconsistent  with  his  duty, — and  you  leave 
all  you  care  for  to  fight  the  battles  of  a 
less  devoted  society.  It  is  self-sacrificing  ; 
and  when  you  return,  it  is  to  a  bachelor's 
old  age,  like  the  general  there." 

"Oh,  I  don't  know,  Butterfield,"  he 
replied.  "  Lots  of  our  soldiers  marry,  you 
know." 

I  could  feel  Carrie's  arm  trembling  on 
mine.     I  continued : 

"  That  is  another  instance  of  their  nobility. 
It  makes  their  duty  all  the  harder.  They 
have  to  leave  their  wives,  and  worship 
them  only  in  the  ideal  sense.  They  see 
them,  perhaps,  only  once  in  ten  years,  un- 
less they  have  risen  to  responsible  posts. 
It  is  a  great  devotion." 

"  But,  Kol,"  said  Carrie  timidly,  "  lots  of 
women  are  glad  to  go  abroad  with  their 


26   THE  COMPLEAT  BACHELOR 

husbands,  and — and  nurse,  and  that  kind 
of  thing." 

"  Then,"  I  replied,  "  they  but  unnerve 
the  warrior  in  the  hour  of  his  trial.  He 
does  not  fight  for  his  country,  but  for  his 
wife.  No.  It  is  the  bachelor  soldier  who 
has  my  veneration." 

"  That 's  all  very  well,  you  know.  Butter- 
field,"  protested  the  bachelor  soldier  un- 
easily, "  but,  confound  it,  it 's  hard  enough 
without  that.  Hang  it  all,"  he  broke  out, 
"  if  you  Ve  got  that  fancy  sort  of  thing  in 
your  head,  why  didn't  you  Join  the  army 
yourself  ?  You  're  a  bachelor,  you  know, 
and  it  would  be  a  jolly  lot  easier  for  you 
to  be  a  hero  than — the  other  poor  beggars." 

I  smiled.  "It  is  just  as  necessary  that 
the  soldier  should  have  worthy  people  to 
defend,"  I  replied.  "  No,  Bassishaw,  the 
soldier's  watchword  is  singleness.  He  is 
as  great  a  solitary  as  that  other  one,  who 
devotes  his  life  to  writing.  The  soldier 
knows  he  is  doing  some  good — the  writer 
takes  the  risk." 

"But  writers  often "  began  Bassi- 
shaw. 


A  MILITARY  MA^NOEUVRE  27 

"And   soldiers "  said  Carrie  at  the 

same  time. 

"  Both  cut  themselves  off  in  a  voluntary- 
abnegation,"  I  replied.  "  They  scorn  the 
smaller  comforts  ;  the  one  worships  his  art, 
the  other  his  duty.  Look  at  Loring  and  his 
wife,  there.  They  look  happy,  and  comfort- 
able, and  pretty  ;  they  have  gentle,  domes- 
tic pleasures.  But  they  have  no  conception 
of  the  grandeur  of  duty.  They  do  not  know 
the  stern  joys  of  the  warrior,  they " 

I  had  been  so  rapt  in  my  idea  that  for 
the  moment  my  guard  was  down.  The 
watchful  foe  took  instant  advantage  of  it. 
Unseen  by  me,  he  had  quietly  beckoned  to 
Loring,  who  crossed  over  to  us. 

"  Kollo,"  he  said,  "  my  wife  wants  to 
speak  to  you  a  moment  most  particularly. 
She  is  waiting  there." 

I  was  out-manoeuvred — the  ally  had  taken 
me  in  the  flank.  I  couldn't  resist.  I  looked 
at  them,  and  then  at  Mrs.  Loring,  who  was 
waiting,  tapping  her  toe  with  her  parasol. 
There  was  no  way  out.  I  turned  away, 
and,  looking  over  my  shoulder,  saw  the  tri- 
umphant foe  turn  the  corner  of  the  green- 


28   THE  COMPLEAT  BACHELOR 

house  into  the  shrubbery,  a  road  of  the  third 
class,  impassable  for  artillery. 

"Now,  Mrs.  Loriug,"  I  said,  smarting 
under  my  defeat ;  "  I  am  glad  to  see  you. 
What  do  you  want  I " 

"  Oh,  Mr.  Butterfield,"  she  returned  ef- 
fusively, "  I  Ve  been  wanting  to  speak  to 
you  all  the  afternoon.  Isn't  it  a  lovely  day  ? " 

"  It  is  a  lovely  day  ;  a  lovely  day,"  I  re- 
plied. "  I  have  been  greatly  struck  by  the 
beauty  of  the  day." 

"It  is  perfect,"  she  said,  endeavouring 
to  gain  time.  "  Oh,  how  nice  it  is  to  be 
young,  Mr.  Butterfield  !  " 

"  Mrs.  Loring,"  I  answered  severely,  "  did 
you  send  for  me  to  tell  me  it  was  a  lovely 
day,  and  that  it  was  nice  to  be  young  ? " 

"  Of  course  not,"  she  replied,  much  em- 
barrassed. "I wanted — I  wanted  to  talk 
to  you.  I  wanted — oh,  do  help  me,  Lor- 
ing." 

"  Molly  wanted  to  tell  you,  Rollo " 

began  Chatterton. 

I  silenced  him  with  a  peremptory  wave 
of  the  hand. 

"  Molly  wanted  to  tell  me  something  I 


A  MILITARY  MANCEUVRE  29 

didn't  know,"  I  replied.  "  Molly  wanted 
to  tell  me  that  I  was  blind  and  deaf  and 
stupid,  and  that  I  couldn't  see  what  was 
under  my  nose.  She  wanted  to  tell  me 
of  afternoon  appointments  at  her  house, 
and  Heaven  knows  what  sort  of  carrying 
on.     She  wanted " 

"  Well,  you  shouldn't  tease  them  so," 
replied  Mrs.  Loring,  illogical,  after  the 
manner  of  women,  but  staunch. 

"  Madam,"  I  said,  "  I  am  not  so  fatuous 
as  to  suppose  that  if  two  young  persons 
intend  to  practise  idolatry  on  one  anothei', 
my  wisdom  and  experience  will  stop  them. 
But  I  have  been  plotted  against,  have  been 
told  nothing  ;  and  I  am  entitled  to  get 
what  melancholy  amusement  1  can  out  of 
the  affair.  You  have  spoiled  my  entertain- 
ment." 

I  adjusted  my  hat  to  an  angle  suggestive 
of  rectitude,  and  bowed  myself  away.  I 
made  for  my  hostess,  and  had  myself  pre- 
sented to  the  general. 

''  You  have  a  promising  young  strategist 
in  our  young  friend  Bassishaw,"  I  remarked. 

"  In  what  way  ?  "  he  inquired. 


30   THE  COMPLEAT  BACHELOR 

"  He  has  turned  tlie  flank  of  a  superior 
force,  and  is  in  retreat  with  a  hostage,"  I 
replied. 

When,  half  an  hour  afterwards,  I  again 
encountered  tlie  victorious  enemy,  they 
made  straight  for  me.  I  received  them 
with  dignity. 

"Rollo,  dear,"  began  my  sister,  laying 
her  hand  affectionately  on  my  sleeve,  and 
coming  very  close  to  me,  "  we  have  some- 
thing to  say  to  you." 

Her  voice  was  almost  a  whisper. 

"  Yes,"  said  Bassishaw.  "  You  see  it  's 
this  way,  Butterfield,  I  Ve  asked  Caroline  to 
be  my  wife.  I  know  it  's  too  bad  not  to 
have  let  you  into  it,  but,  hang  it  all,  you 
don't  encourage  a  chap  much,  you  know. 
You  're  so  deuced  quizzy,  you  know.  And, 
I  say,  Butterfield.  That  was  all  rot  about 
soldiers  not  marrying,  now,  wasn't  it  ?  I 
know  you  're  a  good  chap,  Butterfield,  and 
you'll  let  me  have  Carrie,  won't  you  ?  " 

I  was  afraid  he  was  going  to  say  I  should 
not  lose  a  sister  but  gain  a  brother ;  but 
he  didn't.  My  spirit  was  broken  ;  I  had 
no  dramatic  surprise  left  in  me.     Carrie 


A  MILITARY  MANOEUVRE         81 

looked  up  pleadingly,  with  a  tiny  little  tear 
in  one  eye. 

"It  's  ^yes,'  isn't  it,  Butterfield?"  said 
Bassisliaw.  "  You  're  the  only  one  to  ask, 
you  know.  And  if  it  isn't  *yes,'  you 
know " 

Talented  young  man  !  He  knew  when 
to  press  a  yielding  foe.  I  sighed,  and 
took  an  arm  of  each.  1  feebly  tried  to  re- 
cover my  old  authority,  but  they  talked 
laughingly  across  me,  and  I  knew  what 
sort  of  glances  were  passing  behind  my 
head.  I  was  led  captive  to  Chatterton  and 
his  wife.  Action  was  better  than  insight 
after  all. 


32   THE  COMPLEAT  BACHELOR 


IV 


A  childreijt's  party 


A  GOOD  dinner  in  particular,  and  a  com- 
fortable sense  of  solvency  in  general,  liad 
thrown  me  into  a  half  whimsical,  half  mel- 
ancholy musing,  from  which  I  was  roused 
by  a  small  pair  of  hands  placed  over  my 
eyes  from  behind,  and  a  challenge  to 
guess. 

There  was  not  the  least  possibility  of  it 
being  any  one  other  than  it  was,  but  I 
guessed  "Jack  Wharton,"  and  had  my 
ears  boxed.  Jack  "Wharton  is  a  large  crea- 
ture with  fat  fingers,  and  more  rings  on 
each  of  them  than  a  Plantagenet  sword  has 
coronets — a  well-meaning,  meritorious  kind 
of  man,  and  my  sister  Carrie's  special  aver- 
sion. 

Carrie  sat  on  the  arm  of  my  chair,  and 
paid  little  feminine  attentions  to  my  hair, 


A  CHILDREN'S  PARTY  33 

which  she  tried  to  make  the  most  of — 
there  is  not  so  much  of  it  as  there  once 
was.  A  certain  tendency  to  early  harvest 
in  hair  is  a  family  trait,  and  I  occasionally 
subdue  the  arrogance  of  my  sifter's  youth 
by  reading  to  her  from  the  health  column 
of  some  family  paper. 

She  patted  down  the  last  wisp,  and 
addressed  me. 

"  Do  you  know,  Eol,"  she  said,  "  I  have 
an  idea." 

"  I  leap  for  joy,  my  dear,"  I  replied. 

Carrie  is  used  to  me.  She  went  on  un- 
heeding. 

"  Suppose — suppose  we  give  a  children's 
party." 

I  looked  at  her  in  surprise.  A  chil- 
dren's party  in  my  flat !  What  did  she 
mean? 

"Suppose  we  give  a  masked  ball  or  a 
grandmother's  tea  ? "  I  suggested. 

"  Oh  well,  if  you  will  be  silly — " 
Caroline  said,  sitting  straight  up,  and 
adjusting  the  lace  frivolity  on  her  wrists. 

"  But  who  on  earth  are  you  going  to  ask 
to  a  children's  party  ? "   I  asked. 
3 


34   THE  COMPLEAT  BACHELOR 

"  Oh,  Rol,"  she  replied,  "  there  are  lots 
and  lots  of  children.  There's  Alice  Car- 
michaers  nephew,  Ted " 

"  Ted  Carmichael  is  seventeen  years  old," 
I  remarked. 

"And Nellie  Bassishaw,"  she  continued. 

*' Nellie  Bassishaw  is  fifteen,  and  old- 
fashioned  at  that,"  I  replied. 

"  Well,  you  must  have  some  one  to  take 
charge  of  the  children,  you  know,  Rol. 
But  there  are  heaps  and  heaps  of  nice 
children.  There 's  Molly  Chatterton,  and 
little  Chris  Carmichael,  and  lots  of  others. 
I  do  think  it  would  be  fun." 

"  I  daresay  it  would,"  I  replied.  "And 
yourself  and  young  Bassisshaw  would  look 
after  them  and  amuse  them,  I  suppose  ?  " 

"  Yes,  Arthur  says  he  '11  come  and  help," 
she  answered.  I  had  evidently  not  been 
the  first  one  to  be  considered. 

"  And  Arthur  will  bring  half  a  dozen 
young  Bassishaws,  younger  than  Nellie  ? " 

"  Why,  yes,  I  expect  he  will.   Why  not  ? " 

"  And  has  Arthur  ordered  a  magic-lan- 
tern ? "  I  asked. 

"  Not  yet,"  replied  Carrie.     "  That  is,  he 


A  CHILDREN'S  PARTY  35 

did  suggest  a  magic-lantern — children  like 
magic-lanterns,  you  know,  Rol." 

I  was  aware  of  it — other  people  than 
children  like  magic-lanterns.  I  leaned  back 
and  sighed  ;  it  was  apparently  all  arranged. 

^'  And  what  date  did  you  say  you  had 
decided  on  ? "  I  asked. 

^'The  17th,"  replied  my  dutiful  sister; 
"  that  is,  if  you  '11  be  a  good  brother,  and 
let  us  use  your  rooms,  Eol." 

"  Oh,  anything  you  like,"  I  answered  re- 
signedly. "  1  '11  clear  out  to  the  club  and 
you  can  do  as  you  please.  Only,  mind  you," 
I  added,  "  I  insist  that  there  shall  be  chil- 
dren. I  will  not  be  turned  out  of  my  rooms 
for  you  and  Bassishaw  and  all  the  Nellies 
and  Teds  of  your  acquaintance  to  play  any 
magic-lantern  racket." 

"Oh,  you  dear  brother!"  cried  Carrie, 
blowing  a  kiss  down  the  back  of  my  collar. 
"  But  you  mustn't  go  out,  Kol.  We  shall 
want  you  to  help,  you  know.  You 
can " 

"  Manage  the  gas,  perhaps  ?  "  I  sug- 
gested. 

"  Oh,  the  magic-lantern  man  will  do  that," 


36   THE  COMPLEAT  BACHELOR 

she  replied,  laughing.  "  You  can  call  the 
forfeits — you  used  to  know  a  lot  of  forfeits, 
Rol — and  pull  crackers  and  things." 

And  have  sprawling  youngsters  climb- 
ing my  back,  and  nurse  them  when  they 
get  cross,  I  thought.  But  it  was  of  no 
use  demurring  before  a  determined  young 
sister.     I  must  make  the  best  of  it. 

I  was  given  due  notice  on  the  16th,  and 
cleared  my  papers  away.  At  Carrie's 
suggestion  I  also  took  down  a  print  or  two 
— children  were  so  quick  at  noticing  things, 
she  said.  Then  I  had  the  satisfaction  of 
seeing  a  Christmas-tree  placed  in  the  corner 
devoted  to  my  armchair,  and  of  being  able 
to  look  forward  to  a  week  or  two  of  occa- 
sional pine-needles  and  grease-spots  from 
toy  candles  whenever  I  wanted  to  read. 
A  hairy  man  also  came  with  a  tool-bag, 
which  he  threw  on  my  dining-table,  and 
proceeded  to  make  what  seemed  to  me  a 
radical  alteration  in  my  gas  system,  trail- 
ing flexible  tubes  across  the  floor,  over 
which  I  scarcely  dared  to  step.  I  took  my 
hat  and  fled,  leaving  Carrie  to  do  as  seemed 
good  to  her. 


A  CHILDREN'S  PARTY  37 

Carrie  had  made  me  promise  to  assist, 
and  at  i^ve  o'clock  we  were  at  the  top  of 
the  stairs  receiving  our  young  guests. 
Arthur  Bassishaw  was  there,  of  course — he 
had  been  about  for  the  last  two  days,  and 
had  really,  Carrie  said,  been  invaluable. 
Every  few  minutes  a  nursemaid  arrived 
with  some  pink-legged,  fluffy  little  lump, 
muffled  up  to  its  bright  eyes.  Young  Ted 
Carmichael  brought  my  little  friend  Chris, 
who  clasped  my  knees  and  demanded  that 
I  should  be  a  dragon  on  the  spot.  Miss 
Nellie  Bassishaw  came  with  half  a  dozen 
little  Bassishaws,  casting  a  glance  at  Master 
Ted  that  made  that  young  gentleman  ner- 
vous about  his  gloves.  Altogether  by  six 
o'clock  some  twenty  small  people  were  sit- 
ting round  Carrie's  table,  with  an  attendant 
maid  or  two  tall  behind  them,  and  the  noise 
was  just  beginning. 

Carrie,  to  do  her  justice,  ordered  young 
Bassishaw  about  as  if  he  were  her  own 
brother,  and  he  assisted  with  piled-up  plates 
and  staggering  jellies  in  the  most  creditable 
manner.  Master  Ted  Carmichael,  however, 
was    evidently    divided    in    mind    as    to 


38         A  COMPLEAT  BACHELOR 

whether  he  should  consider  himself  purely 
a  guest,  or  whether  his  age  qualified  him 
for  attendance  on  the  kids,  a  perplexity  in 
which  his  palpable  devotion  to  Nellie  did 
not  help  him  much.  Nellie  was  difficult  to 
woo  that  evening,  and  was  playing  off  a 
smaller  schoolboy  on  her  half-grown-up 
admirer  in  a  way  that  I  liked  immensely. 
She  has  the  germs  of  mischief  in  her,  and 
is  pretty  into  the  bargain.  Ted,  therefore, 
moved  in  a  state  of  unrest — now  helping  in 
ministering  to  younger  needs,  and  now  re- 
suming his  seat  helplessly.  There  was  a 
speck  of  something  in  my  memory  that 
made  me  feel  for  Ted. 

Th  enoise  increased,  and  by  the  time 
Master  Chris — a  most  depraved  child — had 
thrust  a  handful  of  raisin-stalks  and  broken 
biscuits  down  the  neck  of  the  lady  of  ^ve 
whom  he  had  talien  in,  children  were  romp- 
ing here  and  there,  regardless  of  whisper- 
ing nurses  who  reminded  them  they  were 
still  at  table.  They  were  swept  into  an- 
other room  by  Carrie,  with  stamping  of 
sturdy  legs  and  pulling  of  crackers.  Ted 
tried  to  remain  behind  to  be  near  his  dis- 


A  CHILDREN'S  PARTY  39 

dainful  lady,  but  I  brought  him  along.     I 
was  willing  to  help  him. 

I  engaged  Master  Ted  in  conversation. 
The  children,  I  said,  would  soon  be  playing 
games,  and  then  we  men  would  have  a  few 
minutes  to  ourselves — perhaps  time  for  a 
cigar.  He  stiffened  up  in  pleased  pride, 
and  the  front  of  his  first  dress-suit  expanded. 
He  loas  grown  up,  then.  He  ventured  the 
remark  that  kids  were  awful  slow,  but  they 
had  to  be  amused,  he  expected. 

"  Slow,  do  you  think,  Ted  ? "  I  asked. 
"  Why,  I  find  them  most  interesting.  Look 
at  Miss  Nellie  there."  (She  had  just  come 
in.)  "  She  looks  almost  grown  up,  but  any 
one  can  see  she  's  the  biggest  child  of  the 
lot.  Look  at  her  with  little  Molly  Chatter- 
ton — she  thinks  she  's  got  a  doll.  Ah,  Ted, 
girls  like  that  are  at  a  very  awkward  age." 

"They  are  awkward,"  Ted  admitted. 
"But  Nellie,  you  know — Nellie's  not  so 
very — she  was  fifteen  last — she 's  almost — 
oh,  hang  it,  let 's  go  out  for  a  smoke." 

We  made  for  the  balcony. 

"  Have  a  cigarette,  Mr.  Butterfield  ?  "  said 
Ted,  proffering  a  small  silver  case. 


40         A  COMPLEAT  BACHELOR 

"  Thanks,"  I  replied.  "  I  think  I  '11  have 
a  cigar.  Won't  you  have  one  of  these  ? " 
They  're  very  mild." 

Ted  looked  doubtfully  at  it,  and  shook 
his  head. 

"No,  thanks,"  he  said;  "I  don't  often 
smoke  cigars.  I  'm  very  fond  of  a  pipe  now 
and  then — after  breakfast,  you  know ;  but 
cigars  are  a  little  too  much  for  me.     Light  ? " 

He  held  me  a  light,  and  puffed  elegantly 
at  his  cigarette.  Then  continued  thought- 
fully : 

"  The  worst  of  women  is,"  he  said,  "  they 
seem  to  grow  up  so  awfully  quick,  you 
know.  Why,  Nellie  Bassishaw  there,  you 
know — we  used  to  be  rather  flames  when 
we  were  young.  A  year  or  two  since,  that 
is.  We  're  not  so  very  old  yet,  you  know, 
Mr.  Butterfield,"  he  added,  with  a  slightly 
conscious  laugh. 

"  Call  me  Butterfield,"  I  said  softly  and 
encouragingly. 

"  I  don't  mind  saying,"  he  continued,  "  I 
was  awfully  stuck  a  while  back.  I  used  to 
walk  round  the  house  at  nights,  you 
know — darned  silly,   of  course — and   she 


A  CHILDREN'S  PARTY  41 

used  to  drop  me  notes  from  her  bedroom 
window.  Of  course  you  won't  say  a  word 
to  any  of  the  men,  but  at  one  time  she 
wanted  me  to  elope." 

"  Indeed  ! "  I  said.  "  You  surprise  me. 
In  that  case  I  have  greatly  misjudged  her. 
She  is  not  so  young  as  I  thought  she  was." 

"No,  she's  not  really,  Butterfield,"  he 
said  eagerly.  "  She  's  awfully  clev^er  and 
grown  up,  and  all  that — that  is,  she  was 
when  we  were  so  thick.  Some  time  ago, 
you  know." 

I  nodded.  I  didn't  want  to  interrupt 
him. 

"  And  she  's  going  to  have  her  hair  up 
next  birthday,"  he  went  on,  "  and  then  she  '11 
be  quite  grown  up.  I  'm  a  bit  sorry  it 's 
all  off." 

He  threw  down  the  end  of  his  cigarette, 
and  looked  round  at  the  balcony  window. 

"  No,"  I  said,  "  it  isn't  time  for  the  magic- 
lantern  yet.  Half  an  hour  or  so.  And 
you  're  almost  sorry  it  's  all  off  ? " 

"  Well,  yes,  in  some  ways,"  he  replied. 
"  Of  course,  I  get  about  more  than  she  does, 
you  know.     Men  do   see   more   life  than 


42         A  COMPLEAT  BACHELOR 

girls,  don't  they,  Butterfield  ?  I  went  to  a 
dance  the  other  week,  and  of  course  Nellie 
can't  go  to  dances  yet.  But  the  men  were 
another  set,  you  know,  and  the  women — 
well,  it 's  not  much  fun  sitting  out  in  a 
conservatory  with  strange  women,  is  it  ? " 

I  reserved  my  opinion  on  the  point,  and 
he  went  on.  He  got  very  confidential,  and 
by  the  time  he  had  got  through  another 
cigarette  he  had  my  views  as  to  whether 
it  was  possible  to  keep  a  surreptitious  wife 
at  Eton,  whither  he  was  to  return  shortly. 
I  rather  took  to  Master  Ted,  and  decided 
that  Carrie  and  Bassishaw  should  not  have 
all  the  fun  out  of  the  magic-lantern.  I 
would  willingly  have  prolonged  the  talk, 
but  Ted  was  glancing  nervously  at  the 
window,  and  thought  we  really  should  go 
in — the  youngsters  would  need  looking 
after. 

We  went  in,  in  time  to  catch  them  play- 
ing some  game  with  a  closed  door  and  a 
piece  of  mistletoe.  I  saw  no  necessity  for 
Carrie  and  Arthur  Bassishaw  joining  in, 
but  join  in  they  did,  while  Miss  Nellie 
looked  intelligently  patronising.     Ted  was 


A  CHILDREN'S  PARTY  43 

right — women  did  grow  up  quickly.  As  I 
took  a  seat  beside  her  I  heard  Ted  whisper 
to  Carrie  that  her  brother  was  a  brick. 

"  I  hope  5^ou  are  having  a  good  time, 
Nellie  ?  "  I  said. 

Nellie  tossed  her  curls. 

"  Of  course,  real  dances  are  more  in  your 
line,"  I  continued,  "  but  you  can  spare  an 
evening  for  the  children  now  and  then." 

Nellie  bit  her  lip;  she  felt  the  point 
keenly. 

"  I  don't  go  to  dances,  Mr.  Butteriield," 
she  said  stiffly. 

"No?"  I  inquired  blandly.  "Well, 
some  people  are  prejudiced  against  dancing. 
But  I  see  no  wrong  in  it  myself.  Do  you 
regard  dancing  as  frivolous  ?  " 

She  had  to  make  the  humiliating  con- 
fession. 

"  I  don't  know  anything  about  it,"  replied 
Nellie,  turning  half  away.  "  I  am  not  al- 
lowed to  go  to  dances." 

"  Dear  me  ! "  I  said ;  "  motives  of  health, 
doubtless  ? " 

"  No,  I  'm  not  considered  old  enough." 

"  Oh  !  "  I  said,  in  the   tone   of  one  who 


44         A  COMPLEAT  BACHELOR 

feels  lie  has  pushed  his  inquiries  too  far. 
*'  That  is  a  pity.  There  is  such  fun  at 
dances — sitting  out,  you  know,  and  such 
things.  You  can't  have  such  fun  anywhere 
else." 

Nellie  looked  a  defiant  "  Couldn't  she, 
though,"  and  I  considered  my  young  friend 
Ted's  affair  as  good  as  arranged.  I  heard 
her  whisper  to  Bassishaw  later  that  Mr. 
Butterfield  was  a  beast. 

Carrie  came  bustling  up  to  ask  me  to 
help  in  the  preparations  for  the  magic- 
lantern  ;  and  shortly  afterwards  the  light 
was  down,  and  the  great  white  circle  shift- 
ing and  quivering  on  the  sheet,  to  the 
whispering  anticipation  of  eager  children. 
When,  a  f-ew  minutes  later,  I  had  taken  Chris 
Carmichael  on  my  knee,  and  the  pictures 
had  begun,  certain  quiet  indications  from 
the  back  told  me  that  Master  Ted  was  hav- 
ing a  good  time.  I  couldn't  see  the  young 
monkeys  at  it,  but  I  divined  from  the  brood- 
ing peace  in  that  direction  that  they  were 
hand  in  hand.     Hand  in  hand  at  least. 

An  hour  later  the  place  was  quiet  once 
more,  and  only  Carrie,  Bassishaw,  and  my- 


A  CHILDREN'S  PARTY  45 

self  were  left,  gathered  round  tlie  cold 
magic-lantern.  I  looked  at  it  and  shook 
my  head.  I  had  to  do  it  three  times  before 
they  noticed  me. 

"  What  is  it  now,  Eol  ? "  said  Carrie. 

"Sixteen  next  birthday,"  I  said  to  my- 
self. 

"  What  are  you  talking  about  ?  " 

"  Used  to  drop  him  notes  from  her  bed- 
room window,"  I  mused. 

"  Oh,  do  shake  him,  Arthur." 

Arthur  shook  me.  I  looked  severely 
at  them  both. 

"I  suppose  you  know  what  you  Ve 
done,"  I  said,  "  you  and  your  magic-lan- 
tern ? " 

They  commenced  a  look  of  innocence,  but 
I  quelled  them. 

"  If  there  is  an  elopement  at  your  house 
shortly,  Bassishaw,"  I  said,  "  you  can  thank 
this  children's  party.  Don't  pretend  you 
didn't  see  them." 

"  I  'm  afraid,  Butterfield,  do  you  know, 
that  they  are  mischievous  young  beggars," 
replied  Bassishaw ;  "  but  it 's  not  our  fault." 

"  Not  your  fault ! "  I  said,  with  rather  a 


46   THE  COMPLEAT  BACHELOR 

toucli  of  scorn,  I  think,  in  my  voice  ;  "  not 
your  fault !  You  bring  overcharged  adoles- 
cence together — you  know  the  moral  laxity 
of  sixteen — you  know  the  latent  depravity 
of  female  sixteen  especially — you  provide 
them  with  a  handy  magic-lantern  and  every 
convenience — and  it  's  not  your  fault! 
Well,  I  did  my  best  to  dissuade  you  ;  you 
have  only  yourselves  to  thank.  I  wash  my 
hands  of  all  consequences.  Don't  blame 
me." 

It  pleased  me  to  throw  the  responsibility 
on  someone  else. 


THE  IDEAL   IN  PEEIL 

The  Faineant  Club  was  going  to  the 
devil,  which  was  unnecessary,  considering 
the  state  of  the  weather.  There  was  no- 
body about — including  Wentworth  Boyle. 
The  magazines  were  uncut — cutting  meant 
energy.  The  tape  machine  ticked  out 
nothing  but  cricket  scores,  in  which  I  am 
not  interested.  A  waiter  was  sleeping  in 
a  chair  in  a  remote  corner,  the  only  sugges- 
tion of  coolness  about  the  place.  There 
was  absolutely  nothing  to  do.  It  was  too 
hot  to  swear. 

I  went  to  the  window  and  looked  out. 
Piccadilly  was  a  glaring  Sahara.  The  rows 
of  horses  across  the  way  were  limp  as 
chewed  string,  and  lived  for  nothing  but 
the  next  water-cart  that  should  pass  and 
drench   their   burning   hocks.     The   trees 

bore  spiritlessly  their  burden  of  dust  ;  and 

47 


48   THE  COMPLEAT  BACHELOR 

the  only  energetic  thing  in  sight  was  an 
impervious  newsboy  crying  the  fatalities  of 
the  heat-wave — a  Song  of  Degrees. 

I  was  in  a  fermenting  state  of  discon- 
tent. The  season  had  only  just  begun,  and 
there  were  at  least  six  weeks  of  this  to  look 
forward  to — six  weeks  of  hot,  breathless 
theatres,  and  daily  martyrdoms  on  the 
Row.  The  season  was  confounded  rot.  I 
had  half  a  mind  to  throw  the  whole  thing 
up.  I  went  to  the  writing-table,  wrote  a 
complaint  to  the  committee  on  the  iced 
drinks,  murmured  the  prayer  for  rain,  and 
returned  to  the  window. 

Why  did  the  women  look  so  cool  when 
the  men  were  in  such  a  state  of  collapse  ? 
Millicent  Dixon  had  just  driven  past,  look- 
ing as  fresh  as  a  buttercup.  I  saw  Millie 
Dixon  twice  a  week  on  an  average,  and 
she  always  did  look  fresh.  Yet  she  must 
be  eight-and-twenty. 

I  determined  to  walk,  if  I  could  do  so 
without  risking  a  sunstroke.  The  first 
parasol  of  my  acquaintance  that  passed 
should  be  my  refuge,  provided  the  bearer 
were  not  too  stout.     I  am  stoutish  myself. 


THE  IDEAL  IN  PERIL  49 

A  white  gown  was  tripping — tripping  ! 
— towards  the  club  window,  which,  from  a 
certain  trick  of  carriage,  should  belong  to 
Mrs.  Loring  Chatter  ton.  I  calculated  my 
time  carefully,  and  stepped  from  the  club 
awning  to  the  shelter  of  the  sunshade. 
Mrs.  Loring  is  slight. 

''  My  dear  Mr.  Butterfield,  how  do  you 
do?" 

"  Thank  you,  my  dear  lady,"  I  replied  ; 
"  with  a  little  basting  I  shall  do  to  a 
turn." 

''  Oh  !  isn't  it  ?  "  she  said.  "  I  never 
knew  such  heat  in  May.  You  must  feel  it 
terribly,  Mr.  Butterfield." 

Now,  I  am  not  so  stout  as  all  that. 
Thirteen  four,  for  a  bachelor  approaching 
forty,  and  of  personable  height,  is  no  extrav- 
agant riot  of  flesh. 

"  I  admit  to  a  certain  warmth,"  I  replied  ; 
''but  when  your  own,  permit  me  to  say, 
somewhat  meagre  presence  has  ripened  to  a 
more  generous  noontide,  perhaps  you  will 
resent  any  ostentatious  sympathy  on  the 
subject." 

Mrs.    Loring  laughed.     She   always  re- 


60   THE  COMPLEAT  BACHELOE 

fused  to  take  my  dignity  seriously.  To 
her  I  am  not  Rollo  Butterfield,  LL.  D. 
(ceased  to  practise),  but  Mr.  Butterfield, 
who  may  be  allowed  to  see  the  children  in 
bed,  should  he  wish  it,  and  who  is  sacri- 
ficed on  the  altar  of  intimacy  to  take  in 
to  dinner  nervous  schoolgirls,  and  act  as 
escort  and  general  convenience  in  shopping 
expeditions. 

"Well,"  said  Mrs.  Loring,  "I  don't 
think  you  ought  to  mind  at  your  time  of 
life.  Let  me  see,  how  much  older  than 
Loring  are  you  ?  " 

"Mrs.  Loring  Chatterton,  perhaps  you 
prefer  to  walk  to  Wilton  Place  alone  ?  " 

"It  77iust  be  rather  hard  on  you,"  said 
this  incorrigible  lady,  laughing. 

I  looked  at  the  sunshade  and  at  the  glare 
that  shone  mercilessly  on  my  patent 
leathers.  Decision  of  action  was  never  my 
strong  point,  and  the  firmest  principles 
will  soften  at  ninety-two  in  the  shade.  I 
capitulated.  Compromise  beneath  a  parasol 
was  better  than  dignity  in  the  sun. 

We  walked  along.  By  the  exercise  of 
much  ingenuity  in  mapping  out  a  track 


THE  IDEAL  IN  PERIL  61 

that  should  consist  of  the  maximum  of 
shade,  by  the  strategic  use  of  large  vans 
and  the  skirting  of  a  person  with  a  huge 
umbrella,  whose  shadow  was  as  that  of  a 
great  rock  in  a  thirsty  land,  we  arrived  at 
Wilton  Place,  and,  in  response  to  Mrs. 
Loring's  invitation  to  come  and  have  tea, 
I  followed  her  in. 

Mrs.  Loring's  drawing-room  was  cool  as 
a  cloister.  I  foundered  on  to  a  sofa  and 
closed  my  eyes,  while  my  hostess,  as  a  last 
impertinence,  vapourised  me  in  passing 
with  a  tiny  scent  fountain,  and  left  me  in 
a  luxury  of  dim  light. 

Such  a  retreat,  at  my  time  of  life,  was 
very  soothing.  My  meridian  was  pretty 
near  the  full,  and  I  had  a  right  to  a  drowsy 
siesta  before  facing  again  the  afternoon 
glow  whose  level  rays  would  decline  to 
the  long  evening.  I  lazily  watched  a  fly 
that  was  spinning  a  soft  drone  in  the  twi- 
lighted  room,  and  blinked  through  my 
half -closed  eyes  at  the  few  white  splashes 
of  sunlight  on  the  floor,  vivid  in  the  sub- 
dued tone.  Bowls  of  flowers  cooled  the 
air  with  perfume,  and  the  Genius  of  Eest 


52   THE  COMPLEAT  BACHELOR 

brooded  over  tlie  place.  The  afternoon 
with  its  business  would  come,  no  doubt ; 
but  for  the  present  this  was  my  oasis. 

Mrs.  Loring  reappeared  in  a  tea-gown 
whose  gossamer  frothed  daintily  about  her 
neck.  She  looked  the  pink  of  freshness — 
and  yet  she  was  within  three  years  of 
thirty.  I  took  a  kind  of  pleasure  in  the 
thought.     Loring  was  a  lucky  man. 

A  tray  was  brought  in,  and  this  attentive 
lady  fluttered  round  the  little  silver  urn, 
and  ministered  to  my  paresse  with  tea  and 
lemon.  I  grew  humorously  melancholy, 
and  lapsed  into  gentle  vistas  of  reminis- 
cence. I  believe  I  sighed. 
•  Mrs.  Loring  mentally  referred  the  sigh 
to  corpulence,  for  she  came  over  with  tea, 
and  said,  "There,  poor  man.  That  will 
cool  you." 

I  half  rose  from  my  reclining  posture, 
and  shook  my  head  as  I  took  the  cup. 

"  No,  madam,"  I  said,  "  tea-leaves  cannot 
allay  the  dust  of  memory.  I  sigh  for  what 
once  was,  for  what  might  have  been  now. 
I  sigh  for  Ten  Years  Back.  Do  you  ever 
sigh  for  Ten  Years  Back  ?  " 


THE  IDEAL  IN  PERIL  53 

From  the  puzzled  way  inwliicli  she 
looked  at  me,  she  evidently  did  not. 

"  Ten  years  back,"  I  continued,  "  you 
and  I  were  yet  young." 

She  tried  to  look  wrinkled. 

"  Ten  years  back  you  were  interested  in 
painting,  and  visited  the  National  Gallery. 
Millie  Dixon  was  also  interested  in  paint- 
ing and  also  visited  the  National  Gallery. 
Loring  Chatterton  didn't  give  a  hang 
for  painting,  yet  he  dragged  me  round 
to  the  National  Gallery.  I  paid  the  six- 
pences." 

"  Anyway  you  were  always  glad  enough 
to  see  Millie  Dixon ;  you  didn't  do  it  out 
of  pure  self-sacrifice." 

"The  National  Gallery,"  I  continued, 
not  heeding  the  interruption,  "  is  one  of  the 
great  storehouses  of  the  world's  art.  It  is 
the  pride  of  a  great  nation,  /went  there 
for  purposes  of  study;  but  how  did  you 
profit  by  it?  You  used  it  for  rubbing 
shoulders  and  squeezing  hands." 

"  I  know  how  you  profited  by  it,"  said 
Mrs.  Loring,  laughing.  "You  used  to 
study  the  water-colours  down-stairs,  and  you 


54   THE  COMPLEAT  BACHELOR 

got  locked  in  one  day.  Millie  Dixon,  by 
the  way,  got  locked  in  too." 

"  Millie  Dixon  always  had  foresight,"  I 
said  musingly. 

"But  you  never  painted,  and  Millie  Dixon 
did." 

"  In  spite  of  your  insinuation,  Mrs.  Lor- 
ing,  I  never  ascertained  that.  Her  com- 
plexion  " 

"  Then  you  ought  to  have  done.  Here 
are  you  two  still  hanging  on  in  the  same 
position  as  ten  years  ago.  /  gave  Millicent 
a  month  if  she  knew  her  business.  Loring 
and  I  didn't  take  so  long.  I  am  disappoint- 
ed in  you.     I'm  sure  it's  not  Millie's  fault." 

That  was  hardly  fair.  Millie  had  never 
thrown  herself  at  me. 

"  If  you  'd  made  love  to  Millicent,"  she 
went  on,  "  you  'd  not  have  been  a  lonely 
fat  old  bachelor,  living  in  a  horrid  flat,  and 
wasting  your  time  at  clubs  and  race  meet- 
ings." 

"  Mrs.  Loring  Chatterton,"  I  replied,  "  if 
I'  d  made  love  to  Millicent  I  should  have 
been  just  as —  mature  of  outline,  and  should 
still  have  been  a  bachelor.     It  is  my  gift. 


THE  IDEAL  IN  PERIL  55 

I  was  born  a  bachelor.  I  should  have 
said,  '  Miss  Dixon,  if  you  love  me,  let  me 
remain  a  bachelor.'  She  would  have  said, 
*As  a  bachelor  you  first  loved  me;  be 
always  my  own  bachelor.'  It  is,  alas  !  my 
single  talent.     I  was  made  for  singleness." 

"  Rubbish  !  You  know  you  like  Milli- 
cent." 

"  Dear  madam,  I  like  all  ladies — as  a 
garden  of  flowers,  yet  I  cannot  bring  my- 
self to  pluck  one." 

"  Then  why  do  you  sigh  for  ten  years 
back?" 

That  is  the  worst  of  women — ^they  have  a  | 
way  of  being  suddenly  logical  when  no  one  f 
expects  it  of  them.  Mrs.  Loring  is  a  charm- 
ing woman,  but  I  must  be  careful.  One  or 
two  lapses  into  sentiment  like  this,  and  she 
will  have  me  married  to  Miss  Dixon  before 
I  know  where  I  am.  But  my  weakness 
was  over.     I  pulled  myself  together. 

A  burning  white  spot  of  sunshine  had 
been  slowly  crossing  the  floor  in  my  direc- 
tion, had  mounted  the  sofa,  and  was 
threatening  to  disturb  my  repose.  It 
brought  back  the  hot  streets  and  the  sti- 


56   THE  COMPLEAT  BACHELOR 

fling  club,  and  was  invading  my  sanctuary 
with  vivid  glare.  I  was  moving  along  out 
of  its  way  when  a  bell  rang. 

"  Oh  !  and  the  tea's  cold  !  "  said  Mrs. 
Loring,  with  the  first  thought  of  a  hostess. 
"  1 11  have  to  get  some  more  in." 

Miss  Millicent  Dixon  entered  unan- 
nounced. 

"My  Dear  Molly,"  cried  Miss  Dixon,  "if 
you  love  me,  give  me  some  tea.  How 
do  you  do,  Mr.  Butterfield  ?  Do  you  know, 
Moll,  I  have  been  rushing  about  for  two  mor- 
tal hours  trying  to  find  a  wedding  present 
for  Madge  Beaumont,  and  I  haven't  got 
one  !     Do  help  me — Mr.  Butterfield " 

"  Oh,  don't  ask  him,"  Mrs.  Loring  struck 
in  ;  "  Mr.  Butterfield's  been  getting  senti- 
mental. Between  ourselves,  Millie,  he 
came  dangerously  near  to  a  lucid  interval. 
He's  be  ensighing  over  a  misspent  life, 
and  wishing  he  were  years  younger." 

"  Is  it  announced  yet,  Mr.  Butterfield  ?  " 
inquired  Millicent  mischievously.  "  Who 
is  she  ? " 

"  Promise  to  tell  Millie  before  any  one 
else,  Mr.  Butterfield,"  said  Mrs.  Loring. 


THE  IDEAL  IN  PERIL  57 

The  machinating  married  woman  !  No 
bachelor  is  safe  with  her.     I  said   nothing. 

"  Then  it  is  true ! "  said  Miss  Dixon, 
"  and  I  shall  need  two  wedding  presents. 
Mr.  Butterfield,  the  unassailable  bachelor ! 
I  shall  give  you  Paradise  Lost^  Mr.  Butter- 
field." 

"  Ladies,"  I  answered,  "  you  are  unfair. 
You  catch  me  in  a  weak  moment,  suffering 
from  sunstroke,  and  accuse  me  of  good  res- 
olutions. Does  my  previous  bad  charac- 
ter go  for  nothing  ?  May  I  not  have  a  half- 
hour's  weakness  without  hearing  of  it 
again?  It  is  my  first  offence.  Oh,  how 
difficult  is  the  true  Bachelor  Ideal ! " 

"  Then  you  are  not  engaged,  Mr.  Butter- 
field  ? "  said  Millicent. 

"  Not  to  my  knowledge,  Miss  Dixon.  I 
admit  to  a  certain  wavering.  If  it  comes 
again  I  will  take  you  into  my  confidence ; 
in  the  meantime  we  will  discuss  Miss  Beau- 
mont's wedding  present." 

We  went  into  committee  on  the  subject. 
I  was  still  the  Compleat  Bachelor. 

But  I  had  presentiments. 


VI 


A  CORNER    E^T  TREACLE 

I  COULD  not  help  smiling  as  I  rang  Mrs. 
Kit  Carmicliaers  bell.  It  wanted  a  good 
hour  to  calling  time,  and  I  was  sure  to 
arrive  in  that  embarrassing  period  of  the 
afternoon  when  morning  attire  is  being  ex- 
changed for  the  tea-gown,  and  the  mdis- 
creet  visitor  is  left  to  meditate  on  the  hol- 
lowness  of  social  obligations  in  an  empty- 
drawing-room.  It  is  an  hour  I  take  a  pe- 
culiar delight  in.  I  like  to  see  the  piano 
before  Schubert's  songs  have  replaced  the 
thumbed  exercise-book,  and  to  divine  mid- 
day practisings,  scarcely  over,  by  young 
ladies  lanky  in  stocking,  with  surreptitious 
chewing-gum  in  their  pockets.  It  has  still 
the  charm  that  "  going  behind  "  had  for  me 
in  my  early  theatrical  days. 

I  had  made  some  masculine  pretext  for 

leaving  Carrie  behind,  and  she  was  to  fol- 
58 


A  CORNER  IN  TREACLE  59 

low  later.  I  had  a  small  reason  of  my  own 
for  wishing  to  see  Mrs.  Kit  alone. 

Mrs.  Kit's  maid  admitted  me.  That 
young  person  always  seems  inclined  to 
laugh  when  she  sees  me.  I  swear  I  have 
never  encouraged  her. 

The  drawing-room  door  was  opened  to 
me,  but  I  walked  past  it,  beckoned  by  a 
distant  sound  of  childish  romping,  and  a 
young  mother's  call  of  "  Come  here,  Chris." 
I  made  all  the  noise  in  my  approach  that 
pretended  stealth  demanded ;  I  am  deli- 
cate in  my  freedom. 

Now,  that  is  a  part  that  needs  a  nice 
discrimination  in  the  true  performing  of  it. 
Intimacy  has  no  severer  test.  Show  me 
the  indiscreet  bachelor  friend  whose  title 
falls  short,  be  it  only  by  a  syllable,  of  the 
full  warranty,  and  I  will  show  you  a  man 
who  shall  wait  for  invitations,  and  to  whom 
the  fiery  sword  of  "  not  at  home  "  shall  be 
displayed.  The  young  wife  in  particular 
is  apt  to  be  touchy. 

My  approach  had  been  heard,  and  a  sub- 
dued scuffling  subsided  as  I  entered  the 
half-open  nursery   door.     Mrs.  Kit  had  a 


60   THE  COMPLEAT  BACHELOR 

maid,  and  had  at  one  time  kept  a  nurse  ; 
but  the  nurse  had  gracefully  relinquished 
the  engagement  on  finding  she  had  two 
children  in  charge,  the  grown-up  one 
scarcely  more  manageable  than  the  chubby 
little  imp  who  bore  his  father's  name. 
Consequently,  Master  Christopher  occupied 
a  good  deal  of  his  mother's  time,  and  was 
in  a  fair  way  for  being  spoiled. 

This  young  gentleman  of  four  hailed  me 
with  a  shout,  and  childish  glee  in  his  scan- 
tiness of  garment ;  while  his  mother,  rosy 
and  bright  with  romping,  did  her  best  to 
look  crossly  on  my  intrusion.  Mrs.  Car- 
michael  always  keeps  up  an  appearance  of 
formality,  even  with  me. 

"Mr.  Butterfield,  how  dare  you  come 
into  my  nursery  !  " 

"  Mrs.  Carmichael,"  I  replied,  "  I  came  to 
have  a  talk  vdth  your  son  in  the  matter  of  a 
certain  giant  in  whom  we  are  both  interested. 
Perhaps  you  yourself  would  care " 

"  Chris  shall  not  hear  any  story  till  he 
has  his  pinafore  on.  It  is  as  well  you  are 
a  bachelor,  Mr.  Butterfield.  You  would 
spoil  the  best  child  in  the  world." 


A  CORNER  IN  TREACLE  61 

*'  Unless  I  am  mistaken,  Mrs.  Kit,"  I  an- 
swered, "  you  yourself  were  playing  the  part 
of  a  bear  when  I  entered.  Does  one  hunt 
bears  without  a  pinafore  ?  " 

"I  am  his  mother,  and  have  to  amuse 
him — judiciously ! "  returned  Mrs.  Car- 
michael.  "You  don't  know  what  a  re- 
sponsibility children  are,  Mr.  Butterfield." 

"  I  appreciate  your  feelings,  madam,"  I 
replied.  "  I  remember  in  my  youth  I  kept 
white  mice.     Now,  white  mice " 

"  White  fiddlesticks,"  said  Mrs.  Kit.  "A 
bachelor  has  absolutely  no  idea  of  what 
trouble  children  are.  They  take  the  whole 
of  your  time — ^they  are  constantly  to  be 
watched — you  never  know  what  mischief 
they  are  up  to." 

"  I  ^e^tfour  white  mice,  Mrs.  Carmichael, 
with  power  to  add.  You  have  only  one " 

"  Oh,  but  Chris  is  so  mischievous !  He 's 
so  full  of  spirits.  Scarcely  an  hour  since 
he  nearly  broke  his  neck  trying  to  climb  a 
handrail,  under  the  impression  it  was  a 
beanstalk — that  was  one  of  your  stories, 
Mr.  Butterfield, — and  last  night  he  man- 
aged to  get  Simple  Simon  into  his  prayers." 


62   THE  COMPLEAT  BACHELOR 

I  shook  my  head. 

"An  inherited  irreligious  tendency,"  I 
replied.  "  He 's  probably  got  that  from  his 
father.     I  remember  Kit " 

"  Eubbish  !  It 's  just  pure  animal  spirits. 
Chris  is  getting  so  big  and  strong — and 
noisy,"  she  added,  as  Chris  broke  away  with 
the  shout  of  pagan  infancy. 

"In  that  case,  Mrs.  Carmichael,"  I  an- 
swered, "  a  reducing  diet  of  cinder-tea,  judi- 
ciously administered " 

"  Cinder-tea  ?  What  do  you  know  about 
cinder-tea? — Chris,  put  your  arm  through 
here — a  bachelor  talking  about  cinder-tea  ! " 

The  arrogance  of  these  young  married 
ladies  !  They  are  all  alike.  You  may  have 
seen  scores  of  such  pretty  innocents  installed 
in  their  first  establishments.  You  may 
have  known  their  existences  from  the  time 
they  played  peg-top  with  their  brothers  to 
their  perky  airs  over  their  first  long  frocks. 
You  may  have  given  them  away  amid  rice 
and  slippers  at  the  rate  of  two  a  year,  when 
their  bridal  blushes  almost  made  your 
task  superfluous.  You  may  have  known 
them  from  teething-ring  to  trousseau,  from 


A  CORNER  IN  TREACLE  63 

measles  to  marriage ;  and  yet  in  the  first  won- 
der of  a  new  baby  life  you  will  be  told  that 
you  are  an  ignorant  old  bachelor,  and  that 
you  know  nothing  of  household  affairs  ! 

But  I  was  not  disposed  to  take  any  such 
talk  from  Mrs.  Kit  Carmichael.  I  was  too 
old  a  friend  of  Carmichael's,  and  could 
always  make  her  tingle  with  curiosity  by 
an  artful  hint  of  pre-nuptial  reminiscence. 
Besides  which,  she  herself  was  too  much  in 
my  power.  Distinctly,  I  had  a  right  to 
rebuke  her.  I  leaned  back,  and  questioned 
her  with  forensic  severity. 

"  Mrs.  Carmichael,"  I  said,  "  you  are 
young,  but  that  is  no  excuse  for  ingratitude. 
Five  years  ago  my  advice  was  not  super- 
fluous. Whose  experience  was  it  selected 
you  this  little  house,  when  Kit 's  mind  was 
too  full  of  love  to  distinguish  such  details 
as  sanitary  arrangements  ? " 

"  I  believe  you  gave  some  advice  on  the 
subject,  Mr.  Butterfield,"  she  retorted,  "  and 
we  had  workmen  about  the  place  for  six 
months." 

I  waived  the  thanklessness  of  the  last 
phrase,  and  continued  with  dignity. 


64   THE  COMPLEAT  BACHELOR 

"Who  put  you  through  an  exhaustive 
course  of  salads,  Mrs.  Carmichael  ?  " 

"  Well,  you  were  rather  useful  in  the 
matter  of  salads,"  she  admitted  reluctantly. 

^'  Who  gave  you  lessons  in  the  refinements 
of  black  coffee  ? "  I  continued,  warming 
in  a  righteous  cause. 

"  My  coffee  was  not  bad,"  Mrs.  Kit  re- 
turned, on  her  defence. 

I  magnanimously  put  aside  criticism  of  her 
coffee,  and  went  on  with  a  wave  of  my  hand. 

"  To  whom  did  you  come  for  counsel  on 
distemper  and  wall  decoration  and  tapestry 
hanging  ?  Who  told  you  to  cast  on  at  the 
bottom  in  mending  stocking  knees  ?  Who 
explained  to  you  the  principle  of  the  chim- 
ney draught,  the  law  of  ventilation,  and  the 
mechanics  of  the  picture-cord?  Answer 
me,  Mrs.  Carmichael." 

She  combed  Master  Chris's  hair  vigor- 
ously and  made  no  response.  I  saw  the  vic- 
tory of  a  just  rebuke  within  my  grasp.  I 
made  one  more  thrust. 

"  And,  finally,  Mrs.  Carmichael,  have  you 
made  the  treacle  puffs  you  promised  for  my 
next  visit  ? " 


\ 


A  CORNER  IN  TREACLE  65 

She  yielded. 

"  Oh,  I  am  so  sorry,  Mr.  Butterfield,  but 
they  were  a  failure.  I  put  them  into  the 
oven,  and  all  the  treacle  ran,  and  made,  oh, 
such  a  mess  !  " 

I  leaned  back  with  the  magnanimity  of 
a  conqueror,  and  in  that  moment  lost  the 
battle.     Carrie  stood  in  the  doorway. 

"  Treacle  puffs,  Rollo  !  "  she  said.  "  Of 
course  they  run  if  you  forget  the  bread 
crumbs.     I  told  you  that  !  " 

I  was  betrayed  by  her  I  called  sister ! 
A  light  came  into  Mrs.  Kit's  eyes. 

"  Did  you  give  him  those  recipes,  Carrie  ? " 
she  asked. 

"  Of  course  I  did,  Alice,  and  told  him  to 
be  sicre  to  tell  you  about  the  bread  crumbs. 
And  he  did7i't  !  Oh,  Rollo  " — she  turned 
to  me — "  and  you  asked  me  if  they  would 
be  sure  to  run  without  the  bread  crumbs  ! " 

I  was  lost.  Mrs.  Carmichael  rose,  and 
put  aside  the  brush  and  comb. 

"So,   Mr.    Butterfield,"    she     said.     "I 

begin  to  see.     You  laid  a  trap  for  me.     You 

got  Caroline  to  coach  you  in  things  before 

coming  to  see  me,  and  edited  the  recipes  ! 

5 


66       THE  COMPLEAT  BACHELOR 

Let  me  remember.  You  told  me,  did  you  not, 
that  brown  sugar  improved  poached  eggs  ? " 

"Mrs.    Carmichael "   I  began.     She 

silenced  me  with  a  gesture. 

"You  advised  me,  did  you  not,  that 
maccaroni  should  be  kept  in  a  dark  place 
for  fear  it  should  sprout  ?  " 

"That,  Mrs.  Carmichael,  was  on  the 
authority  of  the  Times,     You  surely " 

Again  the  peremptory  finger  reduced  me 
to  dumbness. 

"  And  you  stepped  in  after  all  my  blun- 
ders, and  airily  set  me  right !  Mr.  Butter- 
field,  you  are  an  unspeakable  deception  !  " 

That  was  my  thanks.  Carrie  and  I  might 
conspire  to  do  good  by  stealth — I  might  go 
out  of  my  way  to  gather  hints  on  pastry — 
and  because,  forsooth,  this  woman's  execu- 
tion was  not  equal  to  the  brilliance  of  the 
idea,  I  was  to  be  branded  as  a  fraud  !  The 
brown  sugar  was  an  original  notion ;  and 
if,  forsooth,  like  the  Gi^eat  JEastern,  it 
turned  out  unmanageable  in  practice,  that 
did  not  detract  from  the  boldness  of  the 
conception.  Women  are  so  conservative ; 
they  lack  the  true  inventor's  spirit. 


A  CORNER  IN  TREACLE  67 

I  looked  helplessly  round  the  room.  I 
was  overpowered  at  the  ease  with  which 
people  will  impute  to  one  a  base  motive 
rather  than  go  out  of  the  beaten  track  to 
find  a  good  one.  How  they  give  themselves 
away  ! 

I  turned  and  apostrophised  Master 
Christopher. 

"  My  poor,  unwitting  little  boy  !  For 
you,  too,  the  time  shall  come  when  ingrati- 
tude shall  be  your  portion.  You  are  a 
bachelor  yourself — you  drink  cinder-tea,  but 
the  day  shall  arrive  when  you  shall  be  told 
you  know  less  about  it  than  the  hand  that 
pours  it  out.  Play  while  you  can.  Your 
least  word  is  heeded  now  ;  but  afterwards 
you  shall  cry  wisdom  in  the  nursery  and 
shall  not  be  regarded." 

Chris  saw  somehow  that  he  was  the 
subject  of  remark,  and  now,  trimly  toileted 
and  elaborately  combed,  was  ready  for  a 
story  glim  in  giant  and  spiced  with  gob- 
lin. His  mother,  laughing  at  my  apostro- 
phe, made  a  chubby  fleshy  fold  in  the  child- 
ish cheek  that  was  pressed  against  her  own, 
and  looked  at  me  in  a  way  that  admitted 


68   THE  COMPLEAT  BACHELOR 

my  capacity  in  fairy  lore,  if  it  discounted 
my  more  practical  qualifications. 

"Now,  Chris,"  she  said,  " Mr. Butterfield 
is  going  to  tell  you  just  a  short  story,  and 
I  'm  going  to  receive  my  callers.  Don't  be 
long,  Mr.  Butterfield.     Come,  Caroline." 

She  vanished,  and  I  entered  the  magic 
land  of  giants. 


THREE'S  COMPANY 


VII 


three's  company 


I  HAD  been  told  nothing  about  it,  but  I 
would  have  wagered  my  boot-trees  that 
Carrie  and  Bassishaw  had  had  a  tiff.  In 
the  first  place,  Carrie  had  invited  me  to  ac- 
company them  to  the  opera  when  she  knew 
that  my  acceptance  was  possible,  which  was 
contrary  to  her  usual  practice.  My  pres- 
ence on  such  occasions  had  of  late  been 
not  indispensable;  and  these  young  people 
had  gone  about  together  with  an  aggressive 
air  of  sufficiency  in  each  other's  company 
that  had  insulated  them  from  my  attentions 
and  led  me  to  muse  on  the  thanklessness 
of  youth. 

"  Are  you  going  out  with  Arthur  this 
evening,  my  dear  ?  "  I  had  asked. 

"  Well,  yes,  RoUo,"  she  had  replied  dif- 
fidently, "  Arthur  particularly  wanted  to 
take  me  to  St.  James's  Hall." 


70   THE  COMPLEAT  BACHELOR 

"  It  is  a  refining  entertainment.  I  haven't 
heard  Moore  and  Burgess  for  a  long  time. 
I  think  I  '11  come  with  you." 

My  sister  evaded  the  main  point,  and 
countered  on  the  inessential. 

"  It 's  not  Moore  and  Burgess,"  she  re- 
plied.    "  It 's  a  ballad  concert." 

" '  On  the  banks  of  the  Wabash  far 
away,' "  I  answered.  "  A  simple  sentiment 
would  suit  me  exactly  this  evening.  Yes, 
I  think  I  '11  come,  thank  you,  Caroline." 

"  I  should  like  you  to,  Rol,  dear,  you 
know  ;  but  your  cold " 

Of  course,  my  cold  ;  I  didn't  know  I  had 
one,  but  they  had  made  a  chronic  asthmatic 
of  me  lately. 

"  And  besides,  Eol,  Mr.  Chatterton  said 
he  might  call  this  evening.  I'm  awfully 
sorry,  dear;  but  can  you  come  to-morrow 
to  the  Globe  matinee  ? " 

They  knew  my  prospective  engagements 
better  than  I  knew  them  myself.  There 
was  a  trifling  foolish  committee  meeting 
toward  to-morrow,  and  with  that  I  had 
to  be  content. 

But  a  tiff  is  the  Compleat  Bachelor's  op- 


THREE'S  COMPANY  71 

portunity,  and  in  the  invitation  to  Tristan 
I  spied  entertainment. 

Carrie  had  sunk  gently  on  my  knee,  and 
had  placed  a  small  finger  through  a  button- 
hole of  my  coat.  Bassishaw  had  just  called, 
dressed  with  the  immaculate  precision  of 
one  who  has  made  up  his  mind  to  sulk  in 
his  stall,  and  had  taken  up  a  book  on  juris- 
prudence which  I  kept  conscientiously  on 
my  table,  an  imposing  reminiscence  of  my 
younger  days.  He  watched  Carrie  fur- 
tively over  the  top  of  it. 

"  Please,  Rol,"  she  said,  the  finger  work- 
ing detrimentally  through  the  buttonhole. 
"  You  know  you  love  Tristati^  and  Jean 
and  Edouard " 

"  But  three  cannot  listen  to  Tristan^''  I 
replied.     "  Whose  hand  am  I  to " 

She  came  closer,  and  a  mute  look  in  her 
eyes  said  that  an  Irrevocable  Destiny  had 
made  of  her  life  a  Blighted  Tract. 

"But  my  cold,  Caroline?"  I  asked 
consumptively. 

"  Oh,  Rollo,  you  shall  have  hot  rum 
directly  you  come  in,  and  IJll  nurse  you. 
Do  come." 


72   THE  COMPLEAT  BACHELOR 

I  acceded  with  secret  joy,  on  the  condi- 
tion of  being  spared  the  remedy  she  sug- 
gested. 

"  Then  we  will  dine  out,"  I  added. 

We  did  so,  in  a  gloomy  depression  of 
spirits  that  was  eminently  desirable.  Car- 
rie's humor  was  not  improved  by  the  sight 
of  a  man  at  the  next  table,  apparently 
chastely-minded,  but  who  took  chutney  to 
a  grilled  steak.  She  has  an  instinct  for 
dietetic  refinements,  and  looks  on  culinary 
barbarity  as  worse  than  untruthfulness. 

I  had  to  do  most  of  the  talking,  which  I 
did,  I  think,  in  a  naive  unconsciousness  of 
the  summer  cloudlet  that  loomed  glowering 
over  the  party.  I  spoke  of  youth.  I  said, 
Heaven  forgive  me,  that  it  was  the  hap- 
piest period  of  life ;  that  when  the  heart 
smiled  in  love  the  skies  had  a  blueness ; 
and  much  more  of  the  same  kind.  Bassi- 
shaw  grunted  remarks  on  the  Transvaal 
prospect,  and  for  Carrie's  benefit  muttered 
something  about  shipment  of  troops  and 
leave-taking  at  Waterloo. 

"I  'm  going  to  see  about  my  kit  to- 
morrow,"  he  added,  and  drank  three  liq- 


THREE'S  COMPANY  73 

ueurs  recklessly.  Three  liqueurs  is  a  great 
compliment  to  the  girl  you  love ;  four  the 
very  abaudonment  of  careless  devilry. 

Carrie  tried  feebly  to  show  unconcern 
as  to  their  effect  on  his  constitution,  and  I 
took  coffee  in  huge  enjoyment. 

Bassishaw  tipped  the  waiter  with  im- 
prudent extravagance,  hailed  a  passing 
hansom  cabby — "  Passing,  not  passing 
handsome,"  I  ventured  to  observe,  but  got 
no  response — and  magnanimously  bowed 
Carrie  and  myself  into  the  cab,  saying  he 
would  follow.  I  told  Carrie  on  the  way 
that  I  could  not  have  wished  a  more  desir- 
able brother-in-law. 

At  the  opera  I  modestly  took  the  end 
stall  of  the  three,  but  Carrie  moved  me 
along.  She  then  settled  herself  listlessly 
on  my  right,  while  Bassishaw,  who  had 
arrived,  glowered  at  the  side-drums  on  my 
left. 

He  was  utterly  indifferent  to  the  en- 
trance of  the  conductor,  and  the  overture 
to  Tristan  evidently  brought  no  peace  to 
his  soul.  He  fumed  unholily,  and  threw 
himself   about  in  his  seat  in  a  way   that 


74   THE  COMPLEAT  BACHELOR 

drew  a  remonstrating  remark  from  an  ar- 
dent Vaaagnerite  on  his  left.  At  the  end 
of  the  first  act  he  went  out  for  a  cigarette, 
apologising  with  formality  as  Carrie  gath- 
ered up  her  gown  to  allow  him  to  pass. 
Carrie's  pretty  neck  bowed  a  graceful 
aloofness.  When  his  straight  back  dis- 
appeared behind  the  curtain,  my  sister 
throwing  a  slanting  glance  to  see  if  he 
turned  round,  I  sought  her  eyes,  and 
leaned  over,  speaking  softly. 

"  Was  it  about  your  writing,  my  literary 
little  sister  ? "     I  asked. 

She  assented  with  a  little  gulp. 

"  Tell  me,  my  dear,"  I  said,  turning  my 
back  on  the  Vaaagnerite  next  Arthur's 
empty  seat,  who  was  talking  the  cult 
rather  stridently. 

She  told  me  in  pure  innocence  of  the 
Conflict  between  Literature  and  Love. 
She  spoke  of  the  Devotion  to  Work  and 
the  Sacredness  of  a  Mission.  The  dear 
little  soul  was  going  to  enlighten  the 
peoples ! 

"And  I  asked  Arthur's  opinion,"  she 
said,  her  breast  rising. 


THREE'S  COMPANY  75 

Never  till  then  had  I  realised  the  forget- 
fulness  of  love. 

Arthur's  opinion  on  literature  ! 

"  And  what  did  Arthur  say,  Caroline  ?  " 
I  asked,  composing  myself  as  best  I  could. 

"  He  said  he  didn't  want  women  to  be 
clever,  and  they  had  no  business  to  be. 
He  thought  they  only  ought  to  be  pretty, 
and  I  was  only  inking  my  fingers.  Then 
I  told  him  what  George  Eliot  said,  and  he 
said  I  'd  been  reading  Half  Hours  with 
the  Best  Author sy 

"  And  then  you  quarrelled  ?  " 

"  Ssh— yes." 

Arthur  entered  at  this  moment,  and 
stumbled  back  to  his  seat.  The  Vaaag- 
nerite  broke  off  Gotterdammerung  at  the 
third  syllable,  and  I  fancy  Arthur  had 
trodden  on  his  toes.  I  had  great  sympa- 
thy with  Arthur.  I  particularly  liked  his 
views  on  the  art  question ;  but  he  would 
have  to  unbend  to  this  poor  little  child  on 
my  right. 

She  had  turned  her  head  on  her  shoulder 
during  the  love  duet,  and  I  could  not  see 
her  face.     I   held  out  my  hand  for  her 


76   THE  COMPLEAT  BACHELOR 

opera-glasses,  and  raised  tliem  to  my  eyes. 
The  lenses  were  wet  with  tears — I  sus- 
pected it.  I  quietly  passed  them  on  to 
Bassishaw,  with  the  message  still  moist 
upon  them.  It  is  only  once  in  a  lifetime 
you  see  Tristan  through  such  a  medium. 

The  next  interval  Bassishaw  did  not 
smoke,  but  remained  in  his  stall.  He  had 
heard  the  love  duet,  too.     I  turned  to  him. 

"  That  was  wonderful  music,  Bassishaw," 
I  said. 

"  Yes,"  he  replied.  "  Do  you  know,  But- 
terfield,  I  think  it 's  awful  fine,  by  Jove.  I 
can  understand  Johnnies  doing  that  kind 
of  thing,  you  know." 

"  Quite  so,"  I  answered.  "  To  the  Artist- 
Soul  " — (I  capitalised  the  words  pompously 
with  my  voice) — "  to  the  Artist-Soul,  crea- 
tion is  not  a  choice,  but  a  need.  The  French 
realise  that  in  their  word  hesogne " 

He  was  not  listening,  and  broke  in  : 

"  You  know,  Butterfield,  a  Johnny  must 
have  a  darned  useful  brain-box  on  him  to 
do  that — that  sort  of  thing.  It  made  me 
feel  no  end  queer.  There  's  an  awful  lot  in 
it,  don't  you  think  ?  " 


THREE'S  COMPANY  7T 

Poor  Bassishaw  thought  he  understood 
the  music,  but  it  was  the  opera-glasses  that 
had  fetched  him.     He  went  on : 

"  It 's  darned  funny  that  a  chap  should 
do  that  instead  of  drill  and  depot  work, 
you  know,  Butterfield.  You  know,  I  al  ways 
thought  too  confounded  much  of  curves 
and  trajectory,  and  all  that  stuff.  I  always 
thought  a  chap  was  a  bit  of  a  muff  who 
fooled  with  music  and  verses  and  all  that, 
do  you  know." 

The  confession  was  not  without  a  touch 
of  the  pathetic,  but  I  maintained  a  diplo- 
matic silence. 

After  a  thoughtful  pause  he  continued  : 

"  Do  you  think,  Eollo — do  you  think — 
would — would  Carrie  ever  do  anything  of 
that  sort  ? — ^I — I — mean,  something  that 
makes  a  chap  feel — oh,  hang  it,  you  know 
what  I  mean." 

What  could  I  say  ?  My  little  sister  was 
looking  very  miserable — abstract  truth  is  all 
very  well — 1  temporised. 

"  Well,  Bassishaw,  it  can't  be  done  with- 
out trying.  YouVe  got  to  stick  at  it.  The 
continual  enfantement " 


78   THE  COMPLEAT  BACHELOR 

"  I  know,"  he  interrupted,  "  sort  of  keep 
it  up  steady,  like  these  gunnery  Johnnies. 
It  must  be  darned  hard.  Do  you  know, 
Butterfield,"  he  said,  dropping  his  voice 
suddenly,  "  Carrie  and  I — we  've  had  a  kind 
of — nothing,  you  know — but — a  bit  of  a 
split." 

"  You  surprise  me,"  I  replied. 

"  Yes,  we  have,  really ;  and  I  think  I  was 
a  bit  of  a  brute." 

He  rambled  in  explanations,  which  I 
punctuated  with  '*  Dear,  dear."  Carrie  laid 
her  hand  on  my  sleeve,  and  I  turned  to 
her. 

"  Eol,"  she  whispered,  "  do  send  Arthur 
for  some  coffee.     I  want  to  talk  to  you." 

Arthur  was  despatched  to  find  a  waiter, 
and  I  attended  Carrie's  pleasure  while  she 
twisted  her  fingers  nervously  through  the 
opera-glasses. 

"  Rol,"  she.  said,  "  I  'mso  unhappy." 

"  The  "Wings  of  Sorrow  have  brushed 
your  life  and  left  it  an  Arid  Waste,"  I  re- 
plied sententiously,  hugely  amused.  She 
didn't  divine  the  raillery. 

"But  surely,  Rol,  the  heart  is  ripened 


THREE'S  COMPANY  79 

through  suffering,"  she  replied  uncon- 
sciously. 

"Yes,"  I  replied.  "The  Separation 
of  Souls  is  not  Eternal.  Those  we  love 
are  severed  from  us  in  the  flesh,  but  in 
Heaven " 

She  looked  suspiciously,  but  my  face  was 
very  grave.  The  waiter  appeared  with  cof- 
fee, and  Arthur  resumed  his  seat,  this  time 
without  apology.  He  was  anxious  to  make 
it  up,  but  I  didn't  offer  him  my  seat.  I 
wanted  to  see  the  particular  kind  of  fi- 
nesse he  would  adopt,  so  lay  low  and 
watched  him. 

The  music  recommenced,  and  Caroline, 
by  some  inattentiveness,  retained  her  coffee 
cup,  which  I  believe  she  mentally  identified 
with  Isolde's  love  potion.  Bassishaw  was 
revolving  ways  and  means,  but  the  cup 
hint  was  not  obvious  to  him.  Isolde  began 
the  Liebestod  song,  while  the  head  of  the 
Vaaagnerite  beyond  Arthur  was  sunk  in 
his  hands,  possibly  not  to  see  the  corpulent 
heroine,  whose  presence  was  somewhat  dis- 
turbing to  the  music.  The  Wagner  hush 
was  over  all. 


80   THE  COMPLEAT  BACHELOR 

It  was  broken  by  Bassishaw.  Unable  to 
solve  the  difficulty,  lie  cut  the  knot.  His 
hand  came  over  my  knee,  and  took  the  hand 
of  Caroline  that  was  hanging  in  limp  appeal 
nearest  him.  She  turned  her  face  away, 
but  allowed  the  hand  to  remain.  It  was 
all  over,  and  I  leaned  back  to  commune 
with  my  thoughts,  and  to  adjust  my  mind 
to  the  prospect  of  being  once  more  a  super- 
fluity. 

"  I  say,  Butterfield,  old  chap,"  Bassishaw 
whispered  to  me,  "  do  you  mind  changing 
places?  This  is  rather  awkward,  you 
know." 

"  It  is  conspicuous,"  I  replied,  "  but  com- 
mendably  frank.  I  rather  admire  your  way 
of  doing  these  things,  Bassishaw.  But  we 
can't  change  now.  You  '11  have  to  wait 
your  opportunity  of  giving  me  the  slip  in 
the  foyer — I  Ve  no  doubt  you  '11  attempt 
it." 

It  would  do  them  no  harm  to  wait  a 
while. 


A  VETERAN  RECRUIT  81 


VIII 

A  VETERAN  RECRUIT 

MiLLiCEi^T  Dixon's  uncle,  Col.  Elliott 
Coke,  invalided  from  some  remote  Afghan 
frontier  station  whose  name  on  the  map 
was  utterly  out  of  proportion  to  the  incon- 
siderableness  of  the  place,  was  in  London. 
I  met  him  at  the  Bassishaws'  when  Arthur, 
in  tones  of  infinite  respect,  had  pointed  out 
to  my  notice  a  small,  keen  face,  curried  by 
Indian  suns,  with  moustaches  out  of  which 
both  the  colour  and  the  moisture  had  been 
grilled  years  and  years  before. 

"  I  say,  Rollo,"  Bassishaw  had  whispered, 
"  do  you  know  who  that  is  ?  That 's  Col. 
Coke." 

"  It 's  a  good  name,"  I  observed.  "  Who  's 
he?" 

"  Who 's  he  ?  I  say,  Rollo  !  Why,  he  's 
the  best  authority  on  hill  batteries  and 
jungle  skirmishes  in  India !     Led  an  attack 


82   THE  COMPLEAT  BACHELOR 

on  some  darned  place  or  other  in — I  for- 
get the  date.  V.  C.  Went  through  the 
Afghan  war,  you  know — got  about  a  hun- 
dred and  fifty  clasps." 

"  Indeed  ?  "  I  said.     "  Present  me." 

Arthur  had  presented  me  to  his  hero 
almost  apologetically,  and  I  had  since  im- 
proved the  acquaintance  considerably. 

I  gathered  from  the  Colonel  that  the 
Afghan  frontier  was  not  overrun  with  Euro- 
pean ladies  to  any  great  extent,  and  certainly 
the  little  man's  manner  on  being  transported 
to  a  place  where  a  full  numerical  half  of 
the  population  (and  a  much  larger  propor- 
tion in  every  other  respect)  consisted  of 
women,  was  very  pleasant  to  watch.  The 
luxury  of  seeing  them  was  almost  enough 
for  him,  and  when  it  came  to  the  intimacies 
of  conversation  the  little  warrior's  em- 
barrassment was  as  delightful  as  young 
Ted  Carmichael's. 

"Gad,  Butterfield,"  he  said,  as  we 
threaded  Piccadilly  one  evening,  "this  is 
home,  you  know  !  It 's  like  one  big  family 
— you  feel  as  if  you  can  speak  to  any  of 
them!" 


A  VETERAN  RECRUIT  83 

The  Colonel's  observation  was  perhaps 
truer  than  he  had  any  idea  of  ;  but  I 
couldn't  dash  his  boyish  pleasure. 

"Yes,"  I  replied.  "I  almost  envy  you 
the  delight,  Coke,  of  having  the  full  meas- 
ure all  at  once.  It  is  to  you  what  tiger- 
shooting  would  be  to  me,  did  my  tastes  run 
in  that  direction." 

"  Gad,"  he  replied  (he  seldom  replied  with- 
out "  Gad  "),  "  it 's  marvellous  !  And  all 
with  faces  as  white  as  my  own,  Butterfield  !  " 

I  smiled,  looking  at  the  piece  of  tropical 
cookery  he  called  white,  but  let  him  run  on. 

"  Do  you  know,"  he  said,  "  there  was  Pow- 
ell's wife,  and  poor  Jack  Dennis's  widow, 
and  the  adjutant's  sister ;  and,  by  Gad,  ex- 
cept for  a  daM  that  Powell  kept  (Powell's 
wife  was  never  strong),  there  wasn't  another 
woman,  Butterfield,  in  the  whole  damned 
station  !  And  Winifred  Dennis  didn't 
amount  to  much.     But  here " 

He  never  seemed  to  get  accustomed  to 
it.  Had  a  London  fog  stamped  the  metro- 
politan complexion  indelibly  and  univer- 
sally black.  Coke  would  have  given  a  sigh, 
as  knowing  that  his  glimpse  was  too  good 


84   THE  COMPLEAT  BACHELOR 

to  have  lasted,  and  returned  to  his  old  order 
of  things.  The  rustle  of  a  silk  skirt  was 
an  unstaled  wonder  to  him ;  and  the  con- 
trast between  what  he  called  the  "real 
European  baby-ribbon  sort  of  thing  "  and 
the  "  infernal  blouse  and  puggaree  business" 
never  failed  to  entertain  him. 

With  Miss  Dixon  he  was  soon  on  good 
terms,  but  with  most  other  ladies,  Mrs. 
Loring  Chatterton  first  of  all,  his  diffidence 
was  marked.  His  chivalrous  devotion  was 
Quixotic,  but  most  of  them  would  have 
bartered  it,  I  am  sure,  for  a  more  work-a- 
day  and  less  punctilious  style  of  attention. 
Mrs.  Loring,  indeed,  said  so. 

"  I  don't  know  where  he  got  his  style  of 
conversation  from,"  she  remarked,  "  but  he 
is  absolutely  embarrassed  when  I  present 
him  to  a  woman.  How  do  you  account  for 
it,  Mr.  Butterfield  ? " 

"  It  is  not,"  I  replied,  "  that  he  is  deficient 
in  physical  bravery.  I  can  only  account  for 
it  on  the  supposition  of  instinct.  He  knows 
your  propensities,  Mrs.  Loring,  and  would 
possibly  die  as  he  has  lived,  a  blameless 
bachelor." 


A  VETERAN  RECRUIT  85 

"  But  it  's  just  the  same  with  the  married 
women,"  she  returned.  "  What  is  there  to 
be  afraid  of  in  Alice  Carmichael  ? " 

"  I  decline  to  be  invidious,  Mrs.  Loring," 
I  replied.  "  He  gets  along  well  enough  with 
Millicent  Dixon." 

"They  are  related,"  she  replied,  some- 
what inconclusively. 

"  I  am  afraid  it  is  a  non  sequitur^''  I  an- 
swered. "Friendship  generally  varies  in. 
versely  as  the  square  of  the  distance  of  the 
relationship." 

"  I  wonder  what  we  could  do  ? "  she  said, 
half  to  herself.  "  Do  you  think  Mrs.  Ger- 
vase  would  do  him  any  good  ? " 

The  wicked,  wedded  creature!  Emily 
Gervase,  a  youthful  widow,  was  Cicely 
Vicars's  sister.  I  drew  myself  up  with  dig- 
nity. 

"Mrs.  Loring,"  I  said,  looking  full  at 
her,  "  I  wonder  that  you  do  not  tremble ! 
What  is  it  you  would  do  ?  Has  Col.  Coke, 
of  a  score  of  Indian  hill  fights,  the  bearer  of 
honourable  scars  of  war  and  climate,  not 
earned  his  peace  ?  Would  you,  now  that 
his  body  is  broken  on  the  outposts  of  an 


86   THE  COMPLEAT  BACHELOR 

Empire  for  your  protection,  harrow  tlie  boy- 
ish soul  within  it  ?  No,  madam.  On  me, 
if  you  will,  you  may  exercise  your  arts ; 
but  if  you  once  submit  that  venerable  head 
to  the  machinations  of  Emily  Gervase — I 
expose  you." 

"  Exercise  arts  on  you  !  "  slie  retorted. 
"  You  Ve  too  fond  of  it  ;  and  I  shall  be — 
nice — to  the  Colonel,  in  spite  of  you,  Mr. 
Butterfield." 

She  kept  her  word.  She  indulged  her 
undoubted  gifts  for  being  "nice "to  people 
in  a  series  of  variations,  the  theme  of  whicli 
was  always  the  same — the  development  of 
the  Colonel's  intimacy  with  Mrs.  Gervase. 
Mrs.  Loring's  methods  were  old  enough  to 
me — I  knew  them  by  heart  ;  but  to  the 
maiden  soul  of  the  Colonel  they  came  as  a 
revelation  of  female  unselfishness. 

"  Do  you  know,  Butterfield,"  he  said  to 
me  one  evening,  "  I  'm  beginning  to  think 
Mrs.  Chatterton  is  no  end  of  a  fine  woman, 
by  Gad  !  She 's  loyal,  by  Gad  !  The  way 
she  stands  by  that  little  friend  of  hers, 
Mrs.  Gervase — you  know  her  " — (I  nodded) 
— "  why,  it 's  just  what  a  man  would  do  !  " 


A  VETERAN  RECRUIT  8T 

"Then  you  have  met  Mrs.  Gervase, 
Coke  ?  "  I  asked. 

"Yes,"  lie  replied,  "the  other  evening. 
She  's  infernally  shy,  by  Gad  !  Quiet,  you 
know.  That 's  what  I  like  about  an  English- 
woman here.  Now,  PowelFs  wife,  and  the 
regimental  women " 

"  Exactly  ;  were  not  shy.  And  what  do 
you  think  of  Mrs.  Gervase  ?  " 

"Well,  you  know," — the  little  man 
looked  at  me  with  a  comical  air  of  worldly 
knowledge  that  was  a  joy  to  see, — "  she 
was  awfully  quiet,  Butterfield — only  looked 
at  you  ;  but  /  brought  her  out,  by  Gad  ! 
And  she  's  intelligent,  too,  when  you  once 
get  her  talking." 

"You  succeeded  in  making  her  talk, 
then  ? "  I  asked  with  an  irony  that  was  for 
my  private  satisfaction,  and  meant  nothing 
to  him. 

"  Yes,"  he  replied,  "  after  I  'd — played 
her  a  bit,  you  know.  And  that  woman, 
Butterfield,  displayed  an  intelligence,  by 
Gad,  on  transport,  and  commissariat,  and 
mobilisation  that  was  simply  little  short  of 
marvellous  !     Marvellous,  by  Gad  ! " 


88   THE  COMPLEAT  BACHELOR 

*'  Slie  's  a  clever  woman,  I  believe/'  I  an- 
swered. "  Slie  asked  you  how  often  you 
had  been  wounded,  I  suppose  ?  " 

"She  did  ask  me  that,"  he  admitted; 
"but  women  haven't  got  to  hear  about 
that  kind  of  thing,  you  know,  Butterfield. 
You  Ve  got  to  keep  'em  at  arm's  length  in 
such  matters — kind  of " 

"  Exactly.  Play  them  a  bit.  I  con- 
gratulate you.  Colonel,  on  having — er — 
brought  out  Mrs.  Gervase." 

"  Oh,"  he  replied,  "  she  's  only  a  child,  of 
course,  widow  or  no  widow ;  but  she  '11 
make  a  fine  woman,  Butterfield." 

I  would  have  given  much  that  Emily 
Gervase  should  have  heard  herself  set 
down  a  child.  The  Colonel,  uncon- 
sciously, had  in  his  hand  the  opportunity 
for  complete  and  sweeping  revenge. 

It  was  my  fortune  to  be  present  when 
Mrs.  Gervase,  doubtless  after  deep  con- 
sideration, made  the  next  move.  We  were 
to  call  on  Mrs.  Charlie  Vicars — or  rather. 
Coke  was  to  call,  and  persuaded  me  along 
with  him. 

"Mrs.    Chatterton    said    you    wouldn't 


A  VETERAN  RECRUIT  89 

mind,  Butterfield,"  he  said  ;  "  and,  by  Gad, 
I  can't  keep  two  of  them  going." 

'^  You  undervalue  yourself,  Coke,"  I  said. 
"But  I '11  come." 

And  so  we  found  ourselves  in  the 
aestheticism  of  Mrs.  Vicars's  drawing-room. 
That  lady  found  means  to  entertain  me, 
while  Coke  applied  himself  to  the  creation 
of  a  conversational  warmth  that  should 
induce  the  unfolding  of  the  timid  bud  by 
his  side. 

"Col.  Coke  seems  to  have  taken  quite 
a  fancy  to  Emily,  Mr.  Butterfield  ? "  said 
Mrs.  Charlie  interrogatively. 

"  It  is  a  pretty  sight,  Mrs.  Vicars,"  I 
replied.  "  The  scarred  veteran  in  the 
evening  of  his  life,  his  grim  battles  behind 
him,  returning  to  take  a  younger  generation 
on  his  knee " 

Mrs.  Vicars  looked  round  in  alarm. 

"  — And  to  tell  of  fights  in  which  their 
fathers  were  engaged " 

"  Col.  Coke  is  not  so  old  as  that,  Mr. 
Butterfield.  He  can't  be  much  older  than 
you,"  she  interrupted. 

"He   is   young   enough   to  be   Emily's 


90   THE  COMPLEAT  BACHELOR 

father,"  I  admitted,  "  and  perhaps  a  little 
too  juvenile  to  be  her  grandfather.  Coke 
is  fifty." 

"He  doesn't  look  it,  Mr.  Butterfield." 

"  He  looks  it,  Mrs.  Vicars,  and  you  know 
it.  Let  us  talk  about  something  else.  How 
is  Master — Percival,  is  his  name  to  be  ? " 

The  young  gentleman  in  question  had 
known  the  light  of  day  for  exactly  three 
weeks,  and  was  the  commencement  of  Cicely 
Vicars's  family.  I  had  been  presented  to 
him  in  his  cot  some  days  before,  but  beyond 
mutual  celibacy,  there  was  little  as  yet  in 
common  between  us,  and  the  conversation 
had  flagged. 

"  Yes,"  Mrs.  Vicars  responded,  "  he 's  to 
be  called  Percival ;  and  oh,  Mr.  Butterfield, 
he's  to  be  christened  in  a  week,  and  I 
wondered " 

She  hesitated. 

"  I  already  stand  sponsor  to  an  embar- 
rassing extent,  Mrs.  Vicars,"  I  replied. 
"I  never  ascertained  precisely  to  what 
the  position  pledged  me,  but  I  have  an  un- 
comfortable sense  of  responsibility  to  which 
I  do  not  feel  inclined  to  add." 


A  VETERAN  RECRUIT  91 

"  But,  Mr.  Butterfield,  those  were — otlier 
people's  children — not  mine." 

She  turned  a  supplicating  eye  on  me.  It 
runs  in  the  family. 

"Naturally,"  I  replied.  "  It  would  be  a 
big  burden,  in  these  days  of  small  families, 
for  any  one  person.     But   no,  Mrs.  Vicars. 

Perhaps  on  a   future  occasion 1   have 

it ! "  I  added. 

"You  have  what?" 

"  Coke 's  your  man,  Mrs.  Vicars.     Come." 

I  rose,  and  assisted  her  to  rise  also.  She 
hung  back,  but  I  brought  her  along.  It 
was  the  very  thing  !  We  approached  the 
couple.  The  Colonel  was  holding  forth 
on  the  dialects  of  the  North- Western  Prov- 
inces. 

"  Coke ! "  I  said.     He  looked  up. 

"Accept  my  felicitations.  You  are  to 
stand  godfather  to  Mrs.  Vicars's  little  boy 
next  week." 

Coke  blushed  a  vivid  gamboge,  and 
stopped  dead. 

"  Gad !  "  he  stammered.  "  Wha — what's 
that,  Butterfield  ? " 

"Sponsor,   my   dear  Coke,"  I  returned, 


92   THE  COMPLEAT  BACHELOR 

"  at  the  investiture  of  a  fellow-man  with  a 
name.     You  Ve  just  the  man." 

Things  were  whirling  round  Coke.  He 
grasped  the  edge  of  the  sofa  with  both 
hands,  and  looked  blankly  at  us. 

"  Me  !  "  he  gasped,  "  me  !  at  a  christening  ! 
What  the  devil — me  a  godfather  !  No,  I  'm 
damned  if  I  can  !  " 

"  My  dear  Coke,"  I  answered,  "  calm  your- 
self. Of  course  you  can — you  must !  A 
man  with  the  Victoria  Cross  cannot  get 
out  of  these  things  so  easily.  Look  at  me 
— a  baker's  dozen  at  least." 

"  Gad,"  he  replied,  wiping  his  brow,  "  I  'd 
rather  get  the  Cross  again." 

"  Nonsense,"  I  replied.  "  It 's  a  duty. 
Somebody  did  it  for  us,  and  we  keep  up 
the  tradition.  Besides,  it 's  unlucky  to  have 
to  ask  twice." 

I  had  no  authority  for  this  last  statement, 
but  it  seemed  to  go.  Coke  leaned  back 
for  ease  in  breathing. 

"But  IVe  never  done  anything  of  the 
kind,"  he  almost  whispered.  "  I  shall  shake 
like  a  recruit.  I  shan't  know  what  to  do — I 
shall  get  mixed  up  with  the  bridesmaids " 


A  VETERAN  RECRUIT  93 

The  Colonel's  notions  as  to  the  procedure 
of  christenings  were  undoubtedly  vague. 
I  looked  at  Mrs.  Gervase. 

"  This  is  not  a  wedding,"  I  said,  "  but  a 
christening.  That 's  all  right,  Coke.  You 
shall  wear  your  uniform  and  grasp  the  hilt 
of  your  sword  all  the  time.     You  '11  do." 

"But — but — hang  it,  Butterfield,  what 
about  the  family?  You'll  pardon  me, 
ladies,  but  I — you  are  the  only  members  I 
am  happy  enough  to  know." 

"  Oh,"  said  Mrs.  Vicars,  "  there's  only 
mother,  Colonel.  I  forgot  you  hadn't  met  her. 
You  shall  to-morrow.     You  do  promise  ?  " 

The  Colonel  was  evidently  looking  for 
flaws  in  the  position,  but  seemed  to  find 
none.  He  rose,  as  unhappy  a  little  soldier 
as  ever  wore  a  medal. 

"  Well,  ladies,"  he  said,  "  I  would  rather 
have  shot  Afghans  for  you  for  twelve 
months  than  undertake  this — this  post.  If 
I  break  down  you  mustn't  blame  me.  I'll 
do  my  best." 

And  with  a  sigh  he  pulled  his  white 
moustaches  nervously,  and  we  begged 
leave  to  go. 


94   THE  COMPLEAT  BACHELOR 

Now,  my  only  object  in  all  this  was  a 
half -whimsical  protest,  such  as  is  permissible 
against  what  was  evidently  in  the  minds  of 
both  these  ladies — the  matching  of  Mrs. 
Gervase  with  a  man  easily  twenty  years 
her  senior.  The  position  of  godfather  to 
a  succeeding  generation,  apart  from  the 
edification  of  seeing  such  a  man  as  Coke  in 
such  a  capacity,  Avas  much  more  suitable 
than  any  wedding  so  uneven,  and  I  had 
allowed  myself  to  hint  as  much.  But 
Coke  himself,  as  he  afterwards  told  me,  had 
carried   the   thing   a  good   deal  further. 

It  was  in  the  smoke-room  of  the  Faineant 
Club  that  I  heard  its  conclusion.  The 
ceremony  was  over,  and  Coke  was  com- 
posing his  nerves  with  green  Indian  cigars. 
He  had  sat  meditatively  watching  the 
smoke  for  some  time,  when  he  suddenly 
looked  up  and  caught  my  eye. 

"  Well,  Butterfield,"  he  said,  ''  I  got  it 
over ;  but,  by  Gad,  never  again  !  They 
shall  call  'Deserters'  next  time  for 
me!" 

"  Yes  ? "  I  said  inquiringly. 

"Yes,"  he  replied.     "It  was  this  way, 


A  VETERAN  RECRUIT  95 

Butterfield.  I  called  on  Mrs.  Vicars  next 
day,  and  met  lier  mother,  and,  by  Gad, 
Butterfield  " — the  Colonel  threw  his  cigar 
away  in  his  excitement,  and  faced  full 
round  on  me — "  it  was  little  Cissie  Munro, 
who  threw  me  over  before  I  left,  thirty 
years  ago!  By  Gad" — he  sank  back  in 
his  chair — "you  could  have  pulled  my 
shoulder-straps  off !  I  knew  her  in  a 
minute.  I  didn't  know  whether  she  was 
living  or  dead,  Butterfield.  I'm  used  to 
my  friends  dying — and  there,  by  Gad,  she 
turns  up  !     My  stars,  it  beats  all !  " 

It  was  certainly  a  coincidence. 

"  And  the  awkward  part  of  the  whole 
thing  was — I  don't  mind  telling  you^  Butter- 
field— that  I'd  all  but  taken  a  fancy  to 
that  quiet  little  daughter  of  hers,  Mrs. 
Gervase.  Well,  I  was  all  at  sea  ;  the  whole 
thing  was  too  infernally  odd.  It  didn't 
seem  right,  somehow,  that  I  should  be 
thrown  over  by  one  woman,  make  love  to 
her  daughter,  and  be  godfather  to  what 
might  have  been  my  own  grandchild,  by 
Gad ;  and  1  was  in  no  end  of  a  mess.  Don't 
you  think  so  ?  " 


96   THE  COMPLEAT  BACHELOR 

I  admitted  the  questionableness  of  the 
proceeding. 

"  Well,  I  could  not  get  out  of  the  con- 
founded christening — thanks  to  you,  Butter- 
field, — but  as  to  Mrs.  Gervase,  that  was 
another  matter.  I  can  help  that.  And 
she 's  a  good  little  woman,  too,"  he  added, 
"  if  she  were  not  so  infernally  modest,  by 
Gad." 

"  I  think  it  is,  perhaps,  better,  Coke,"  I 
replied. 


THE  ETHICS  OF  ANGLING         97 


IX 

THE  ETHICS   OF   ANGLING 

I  don't  quite  know  how  Mrs.  Loring 
came  to  pick  the  Gibsons  up.  They  were 
not  what  Carrie  termed  "quite  nice 
people  " ;  m  what  respect  it  was  easy  to  see 
and  difficult  to  say.  Their  jewellery  was 
unexceptionable,  and  barely  ostentatious ; 
their  manners  passed  the  presentation 
standard,  if  falling  a  little  short  in  the 
nicer  requirements  of  the  tete-a-tete.  They 
did  not  offend  in  the  matter  of  "  Mr." 
and  "  Esq.,"  but  sniffed  somewhat  of 
"  R.  S.  V.  P."  Mrs.  Gibson,  too,  insisted 
on  the  forms  of  chaperonage  in  a  way 
that  was  rather  more  than  a  passing  bow 
to  custom,  and  which  suggested  the  possi- 
bility of  her  having  learned  the  necessity 
in  a  different  school  from  that  of  Mrs. 
Loring  Chatterton.  They  had  money. 
7 


98   THE  COMPLEAT  BACHELOR 

''  What  do  you  think  of  the  Gibsons, 
Rol  ? "  Carrie  had  said  to  me  ;  "  /  don't 
like  them." 

"  I  would  rather  introduce  them  to  my 
relatives  than  to  my  friends,"  I  replied. 

It  was  pretty  evident  to  me  after  a  short 
acquaintance  with  the  Gibsons  that  they 
were  disposed  to  make  much  of  me. 
Carrie  noticed  the  same  thing,  and  spoke 
her  mind  on  the  subject  with  the  freedom 
of  engaged  youth. 

"Mrs.  Gibson's  a  horrid .  woman,  Eol, 
and  it's  my  opinion  she  wants  you  to 
marry  Miss  Gibson." 

"  Caroline,"  I  replied,  "  I  applaud  your 
concern,  yet  cannot  blame  Mrs.  Gibson. 
She  can  see  virtue  where  others  see  but 
corpulence.  Besides,  I  consider  Miss 
Gibson  rather  pretty." 

"  I  'm  sure  she  's  not  pretty,"  retorted 
Caroline,  and  proceeded  to  enlighten  me 
on  matters  interesting  and  feminine. 

Mamma  played  the  only  game  she  knew 
very  skilfully.  Her  only  mistake  was  in 
the  inapplicability  of  the  means,  which 
was  not  her  fault.     Indeed,  I  feel  almost 


THE  ETHICS  OF  ANGLING         99 

apologetically  responsible  myself,  seeing 
the  line  worked  so  thoroughly,  and  mused 
instructively  on  the  devotion  of  a  mother 
to  her  child's  prospects. 

Miss  Gibson  was  accomplished,  and  ex- 
pensively finished.  As  I  had  remarked 
to  Carrie,  she  was  decidedly  pretty,  and 
would  talk  Ibsen  to  you  with  her  face  in 
profile.  She  displayed  an  obtrusive  girl- 
hood that  was  not  always  as  modest  as  its 
intention,  and  this  pose  of  maidenhood  in 
bud  was  apparently  the  one  designed  to 
net  me. 

Mrs.  Gibson  gave  a  musicale^  to  which 
I  persuaded  Carrie  with  difficulty.  She 
had  evidently  talked  things  over  with  Mrs. 
Loring,  for  that  lady  appeared  also,  and  I 
was  greatly  gratified  at  the  concern  with 
which  they  watched  me.  I  decided  to 
give  them  all  the  entertainment  they 
desired.  They  talked  with  an  obvious 
intention  of  interesting  me  and  keeping 
me  apart  from  Miss  Gibson.  I  was  sur- 
prised to  see  so  little  strategy  in  a  married 
woman. 

Miss   Gibson    was   running    a  risk    of 


100  THE  COMPLEAT  BACHELOR 

palsying  her  hand  in  a  vibrant  mandolin 
solo,  and  producing  music  suggestive  of 
the  dotted  line  of  a  wheel-pen.  I  heard 
Carrie  whisper  to  Mrs.  Loring  something 
about  "St.  Vitus's  Waltz,"  for  which  I 
reproved  her,  considering  whose  house 
she  was  in.  I  then  addressed  Mrs. 
Loring. 

"  Somehow,  Mrs.  Loring,"  I  said,  "  one 
thinks  more  of  English  maidenhood  as  one 
advances  in  life.  There  is  something  in 
the  unsophisticated  rosebud " 

Mrs.  Loring  nodded  significantly,  im- 
plying there  was  a  good  deal  in  the  un- 
sophisticated rosebud,  but  I  waited  my 
time ;  I  had  a  bolt  in  store  for  her. 

Miss  Gibson  had  finished  the  solo  in  a 
tinsel  diminuendo,  the  intent  of  which  was 
to  enchain  the  soul  a  while  longer  in  the 
regions  to  which  it  had  been  raised.  I 
rose  and  crossed  over  to  her.  She  was  un- 
tangling herself  from  a  mesh  of  coloured 
mandolin  ribbons  that  would  catch  in  the 
ruching  of  her  corsage. 

"They're  sitch  a  nuisance,  Mr.  Butter- 
field  ;  I  shall  cut  them  off,  I  think." 


THE  ETHICS  OF  ANGLING       101 

I  smiled  at  the  unintentional  suggestion, 
and  assisted  her  in  the  extrication,  glancing 
across  at  Mrs.  Loring's  disapproving  face. 
Miss  Gibson  sat  down  and  made  room  for 
me  beside  her.  She  twined  the  mandolin 
ribbons  among  her  fingers,  and  Mrs.  Gibson 
moved  further  away. 

"  Are  you  leaving  town  soon,  Mr.  But- 
terfield?"  inquired  the  unsophisticated 
rosebud  engagingly. 

It  was  a  better  opening  than  I  had 
looked  for ;  I  took  advantage  of  it. 

"  I  had  meditated  going  down  into  the 
country  for  a  little  fishing  shortly,"  I  re- 
plied ;  "  probably  in  a  week  or  two." 

"  You  are  fond  of  fishing,  are  you  not, 
Mr.  Butterfield?"  she  inquired,  tying  a 
a  knot  in  a  red  ribbon. 

"  It 's  a  pleasure,"  I  answered,  "  as  much 
of  the  mind  as  of  the  body.  I  know  of 
nothing  more  exciting  than  the  suspense  of 
the  first  nibble.  The  angler,  male  or  fe- 
male, has  peculiar  joys  and  fears  of  which 
the  layman  knows  nothing." 

"  Oh,  I  should  so  love  it !  "  replied  Miss 
Gibson,  glancing  down  at  a  small  shoe  that 


102  THE  COMPLEAT  BACHELOR 

protruded  from  the  lacy  hem  of  her  skirts. 
I  followed  her  glance,  and  knew  in  my 
soul  that  Mrs.  Loring  and  Carrie  were 
watching  me. 

"The  first  nibble  taken,"  I  continued, 
warming  to  my  work,  "all  the  finesse  of 
playing  your  victim  commences.  There  is 
a  wide  difference  between  hooking  your  fish 
and  landing  him.  He  must  be  humoured 
and  coaxed,  or  you  lose  him,  bait  and  all." 

I  took  one  of  the  ribbons  in  my  hand. 

"  It  must  be  most  annoying  to  have  all 
your  trouble  for  nothing,  is  it  not,  Mr.  But- 
terfield?" 

"You  follow  me  perfectly,"  I  replied, 
"  especially  when  you  have  made  sure  of 
your  fish.  Often  enough  you  have  chosen 
the  wrong  fly,  or  your  line  has  been  seen 
by  the  fish ;  and  he  is  a  shy  thing,  a  very 
timid  creature." 

She  laid  groundbait  for  me  by  dropping 
her  fan.  I  nibbled  again,  and  returned  it 
to  her. 

"The  fish,  too,  becomes  cunning  with 
age ;  and  you  must  not  play  a  middle-aged 
trout  as    a  boy  does  a  minnow.     Believe 


THE  ETHICS  OF  ANGLING       103 

me,  Miss  Gibson,  lie  is  not  easily  caught,  if 
lie  is  worth  the  landing." 

Mrs.  Gibson  passed  with  a  smile,  but  did 
not  disturb  the  situation.  I  rose  to  get  Miss 
Gibson  an  ice,  and  resumed  my  seat  near 
her.  She  placed  the  mandolin  on  the  other 
side,  adjusted  her  gown,  and  diminished  the 
distance  between  us  by  an  inch.  Again 
her  fan  dropped,  and  as  we  both  stooped  to 
pick  it  up  our  hands  touched. 

Honestly,  I  acquit  Miss  Gibson  of  inten- 
tion. 

"  Yet  another  method  of  landing  your 
trout,"  I  continued,  "  is  by  what  is  called 
'  tickling ' ;  but  then  your  fish  must  be 
asleep,  and  it  cannot  fairly  be  classed  as 
sport." 

"But  surely,  Mr.  Butterfield,"  said  Miss 
Gibson,  playing  me  with  her  eyes,  "  fishing 
must  be  very  cruel  ?  Fancy  the  poor  thing 
with  the  hook  ! — doesn't  it  hurt  ? " 

"  I  believe,"  I  returned,  "  they  rather  en- 
joy it.  Miss  Gibson  ;  particularly  what  is 
called  the  softer-mouthed  kind  of  fish." 

"  How  very  curious  ! "  said  the  credulous 
rosebud,   somewhat     absently.     She    evi- 


104  THE  COMPLEAT  BACHELOR 

dently  took  my  remarks  on  the  subject  as 
so  mucli  natural  history,  and  was  interested 
in  tkem  only  as  such.  She  glanced  at  the 
mandolin  ribbons,  and  I  saw  her  revolving 
means  of  supplementing  the  line  by  the  net. 
She  made  a  fresh  cast. 

"And  how  long  do  you  expect  to  be 
away,  Mr.  Butteriield  ?  " 

Mrs.  Loring  and  Carrie  were  approach- 
ing ;  but  Mrs.  Gibson,  who  had  not  ap- 
parently been  watching,  intercepted  them, 
and  dammed  the  stream  adroitly.  Carrie 
was  placed  at  the  piano,  and  the  preserve 
maintained  inviolate.  Mrs.  Loring  talked 
sweetly  to  her  hostess,  with  one  eye  on  me. 

"  I  could  not  say,"  I  replied.  "  Until  my 
friends  yearn  for  me  back  again,  I  sup- 
pose." 

She  made  the  response  elementary,  and 
shortened  her  line. 

"But  your  friends  will- be  sorry  to  lose 
you  at  all,"  she  replied,  with  a  soft  sparkle 
under  her  lashes.  "  I  'm  sure  mother 
will." 

"  Indeed  ?  "  I  answered.  "  My  friends 
conceal  their  desire  for  my  presence  with 


THE  ETHICS  OF  ANGLING       105 

most  generous  consideration.  I  am  allowed 
great  liberty." 

"  Oh,  Mr.  Butterfield,  how  can  you  say 
so?" 

I  ought  not  to  have  done  it.  I  reproach 
myself  for  it.  But  the  temptation  !  Miss 
Gibson  was  really  nice,  if  not  "  quite  nice." 
It  was  unfair  ;  but  I  am  of  no  stronger  fibre 
than  my  fellow-men.  As  I  leaned  forward, 
I  knew  that  the  landing-net  was  ready,  and 
the  gaif  poised.  I  sought  her  eyes,  and 
spoke  low. 

"Shall  you  be  sorry  to  lose  me,  Miss 
Gibson  ?  " 

The  colour  rose  faintly  on  her  cheek. 
She  hesitated,  her  eyes  cast  down.  She 
had  not  fallen  in  love  with  me.  It  was 
the  mother's  doing. 

Help  came  from  outside.  Mrs.  Gibson 
blinked  her  vigilance  for  one  short  moment. 
Carrie  crowded  the  last  few  bars  of  music 
into  an  accelerando  that  would  have  har- 
rowed the  soul  of  the  composer,  and  she 
and  Mrs.  Loring  were  upon  us. 

"  Oh,  Miss  Gibson,"  said  Carrie,  with  a 
sweetness    of  expression   that    astonished 


106  THE  COMPLEAT  BACHELOR 

me,  considering  the  real  state  of  her  feel- 
ings, "  do  please  play  again.  Rollo  and  I 
must  go  very  shortly,  and  we  should  so 
love  to  hear  you.     Won't  you,  dear  ? " 

"  We  cannot  possibly  leave  without," 
implored  Mrs.  Chatterton. 

Nothing  was  possible  but  compliance, 
and  Miss  Gibson  took  her  seat  near  the 
piano. 

Mrs.  Loring  and  Caroline  mounted  de- 
termined guard  over  me,  one  on  each  side, 
but  didn't  speak.  It  was  not  until  we 
were  on  the  way  home  that  the  storm  broke. 

"Rollo  Butterfield,"  said  Mrs.  Loring 
icily,  "  I  'm  deeply  surprised  at  you." 

"  And  why,  my  dear  Mrs.  Loring  ? "  I 
asked  blandlv. 

"  Did  you  propose  to  that — that  Gibson 
girl  ? " 

"Proposal,  Mrs.  Loring,"  I  replied,  "is 
an  excitement  that  would  be  of  more  gen- 
eral indulgence  but  for  the  risk  of  accept- 
ance. It  is  a  valuable  sensation,  and  I 
greatly  regret  its  attendant  danger." 

"You  have  no  more  perception  than  a 
child.     Don't  you  know  that  those  people 


•       THE  ETHICS  OF  ANGLING       107 

are  doing  all  they  can  to  catch  you?  I 
never  saw  anything  so  shameless." 

She  had  asked  for  it,  and  she  should 
have  it. 

"Mrs.  Loring,"  I  replied  slowly  and 
distinctly,  "  your  ingenuousness  charms 
me.  You  call  Mrs.  Gibson's  conduct 
shameless :  yet  you  yourself  would  empty 
half  the  bachelors'  clubs  in  London.  I 
forget  precisely  the  number  of  years  it  is 
since  you  first  endeavored  to  curtail  my 
own  celibate  freedom,  but  I  believe  you 
have  devoted  no  small  part  of  your  atten- 
tion to  my  poor  case." 

"  Millie  Dixon  is  different,"  she  retorted. 

Of  course  Millicent  was  different,  but  I 
held  her  to  the  logic. 

"  We  are  not  discussing  Millicent,  but 
the  ethics  of  angling.  I  am  surprised  that 
you  should  not  recognise  your  own  position 
in  the  matter.  You  do  not  want  me  to  be 
more  precise  ? " 

"  I  don't  want  you  to  be  anything  but 
moderately  sane,"  she  returned.  "  If  you 
can't  see  the  difference  between  the  Gib- 
sons and  Millicent  Dixon " 


108   THE  COMPLEAT  BACHELOR 

She  left  me  to  conclude  the  sentence  for 
myself.  Mrs.  Loring  Chatterton  was  in  a 
bad  temper,  and  evaded  the  argument  pet- 
tishly.    I  turned  to  Caroline. 

"  Has  my  little  sister  anything  to  say  ?  " 
I  asked,  in  a  "  come  one  come  all "  tone. 

She  hadn't.  She  cuddled  her  face  against 
my  shoulder,  and  pulled  nervously  at  her 
glove  fingers. 

"But,  Rol,  dear,"  she  said  anxiously, 
"  what  were  you  and  Miss  Gibson  talking 
about  ? " 

I  took  her  hand. 

"  Nothing,  Caroline,"  I  replied,  "  but  a 
few  observations  on  the  trout,  his  habits,  and 
the  method  of  his  capture." 

"Exemplifying  the  fact,"  Mrs.  Loring 
struck  in  crossly,  "  that  he  is  a  cold-blooded 
creature." 

Mrs.  Loring  scored  a  bye. 


AN  UNDRESS  REHEARSAL       109 


AN  UNDKESS  REHEAESAL 

MiLLiCENT  Dixois^  had  called  on  me  unex- 
pectedly, soaked  from  neck  to  ankle.  I 
had  been  watching  the  vertical  downpour 
from  my  window — long,  heavy  slate-pencils 
of  water,  that  rebounded  from  the  pave- 
ment in  a  mist  a  foot  high, — and  listening 
to  the  hurrying  runnels  that  sluiced  the 
gutters.  It  was  full,  uncompromising  rain, 
and  it  thrashed  steadily  from  the  invisible 
cullender  that  had  been  a  sky  an  hour  ago. 
Millicent  stood  before  me  with  her  hand  on 
the  door,  half  vexed,  but  laughing  out  of 
her  sodden  garments. 

"  Now  don't  sit  there  looking  at  me,  Mr. 
Butterfield,"  she  exclaimed,  as  I  admired  at 
her  plight  with  eyes  half  closed  ;  "  get  me 
some  things." 

I  considered  weightily. 


110  THE  COMPLEAT  BACHELOR 

"  I  have  in  the  house  at  present,"  I 
replied,  ''  several  morning  suits,  a  Norfolk 
jacket,    evening  wear,  pink  silk " 

She  tapped  impatiently  with  her  foot, 
shaking  a  sliver  of  little  drops  from  the 
hem  of  her  gown. 

"Or  perhaps  fishing  attire  would 
be ? " 

"  Don't  be  ponderous.  Where  's  Caro- 
line?" 

"Caroline,  Miss  Dixon,  is  out  with 
Arthur,  and  will  doubtless  return  in  much 
the  same  state  of  rainwater  as  yourself." 

She  disappeared  towards  Carrie's  quar. 
ters,  her  dress  making  a  wet  slap  on  the 
door  as  she  whisked  roimd.  I  rose  to  pre- 
pare brandy  during  her  absence. 

It  should  be  mentioned  that  I  was  con- 
fined to  my  room  with  a  slight  attack  of 
rheumatism,  which  my  considerate  friends 
persisted  in  regarding  as  gout.  As  a  matter 
of  fact  the  affection  was  purely  muscular, 
and  I  indignantly  repudiated  the  fuller 
flavour  of  the  alleged  complaint.  My  port- 
liness must  not  be  confounded  with  deca- 
dence. 


AN  UNDRESS  REHEARSAL       111 

Disconsolately  enough,  I  had  been 
fingering  and  sorting  old  letters,  turning 
out  drawer  after  drawer  of  forgotten  trifles, 
and  feeling  none  the  younger  in  consequence. 
It  was  borne  in  upon  me  that  I  had  a 
history,  or  some  record  of  trivialities  that 
passed  as  such ;  and  these  little  drifted 
relics  of  the  past  had  curiously  discounted 
the  glamour  of  what  was  going  to  happen 
to-morrow.  Except  for  the  unexpected 
shower,  I  should  probably  have  been  left  to 
this  melancholy  occupation  all  day  ;  and 
Millicent's  forced  visit  w^as  very  wel- 
come. 

She  reappeared  in  garments  of  Caro- 
line's, passable  in  style,  but  mth  marked 
qualifications  in  the  fit.  She  tops  Caroline 
by  three  inches.  I  had  often  wondered 
idly  where  that  three  inches  was  accounted 
for,  and  how  it  was  distributed.  I  knew 
now. 

I  surveyed  her  critically. 

"  Shoulders  not  bad,"  I  remarked,  walking 
round  her,  while  she  stood  at  a  laughing 
attention  for  kit  inspection.  "Waist — 
turn  round — hm ! — an  inch  and  a  half  at 


112  THE  COMPLEAT  BACHELOR 

most ;  all  right  so  long  as  you  don't  lean 
forward.  Skirt — ah,  the  skirt — well,  well, 
I  'm  past  such  things.  Really,  it 's  not  bad 
for  an  improvisation." 

"  I  couldn't  find  Carrie's  slippers,"  she 
said,   putting  forward  a  small  foot. 

The  skirt  had  already  revealed  the  silk- 
clad  toes.  I  got  her  a  particularly  large 
pair  of  my  own,  brought  her  the  brandy, 
which  she  drank  like  a  sensible  woman  of 
twenty-eight,  placed  her  an  armchair  near 
the  fire,  and  resumed  my  own  seat.  Then 
I  sought  her  eyes. 

"  It  was  most  thoughtful  of  you.  Miss 
Dixon,  to  remember  an  invalid,  and  to  pay 
such  a  welcome  call.  I  appreciate  it.  In 
the  rain,  too." 

-  Irony  was  wasted  on  this  shameless  wo- 
man. She  looked  at  me  boldly,  and  laughed. 
"I  assure  you,  Mr.  Butterfield,"  she 
replied,  "  the  last  thing  I  thought  of  when 
I  left  home  was  coming  to  see  you.  But 
oh,  the  rain  !     Look  at  it  now." 

I  was  conscious  of  the  fresh  smell  of  wet 
pavement  from  where  I  sat — the  window 
was  open.     The  wheels  of  a  hansom  went 


AN  UNDKESS  REHEARSAL       113 

past  with  a  watery  swish,  the  horse^s  hoofs 
slapping  clear  in  the  deserted  street,  and 
the  stones  shone  with  a  cleanness  that  they 
had  not  known  for  a  month. 

"At  any  rate,"  I  said  magnanimously, 
"  you  're  here  for  an  hour  or  two.  It 's  not 
going  to  stop  yet.  You  may  as  well  make 
a  virtue  of  entertaining  me."     ' 

She  bowed  mockingly. 
"It    is   I   who   am    entertained,"     she 
replied.      "You   have   helped    me    in    a 
watery  dilemma.     I  am  in  your  home.     I 
wear  your " 

I  stopped  her.  They  were  not  mine. 
They  were  Caroline's. 

"  Slippers,"  she  continued,  crossing  them 
on  the  fender.  "  I  think  I  '11  take  Caro- 
line's place  while  she  's  gadding  about  with 
Arthur." 

Again  I  stopped  her.  She  was  not  in 
Caroline's  shoes. 

"  Besides,  Miss  Dixon,"  I  added,  "  are 
you  not  a  little  premature  in  offering  to  be 
a  sister  to  me  ?  " 

"  Never  mind,"  she  replied,  laughing ; 
"  call  it  housekeeper,  if  you  like." 


114  THE  COMPLEAT  BACHELOR 

"  The  imputation,"  I  answered,  "  is  mon- 
strous. I  am  a  respectable  bachelor,  and 
never  had  such  a  thing.  And  if  I  had,  she 
would  have  appeared  before  me  in  a  fitting 
state — not  a  misfitting  one." 

"  Then  we  'd  better  make  it  sister  after 
all,"  she  returned,  "  and  my  first  duty  is  to 
demand  what  you  were  doing  when  I  came 
in." 

I  glanced  at  the  half -sorted  piles  of  notes, 
c^rds,  ancient  invitations,  mementoes,  and 
the  hundred  other  matters  which  had 
doubtless  been  of  more  or  less  importance 
in  their  day,  and  shrugged  my  shoulders. 

"  I  know,"  said  Miss  Dixon,  "  it  is  rather 
dreadful.  Seems  like  reading  some  one 
else's  letters.     Let  me  help  you." 

She  put  out  her  hand  for  the  nearest 
packet.  I  placed  my  own  firmly  on 
hers. 

"  Miss  Dixon,"  I  said  slowly,  "  who  are 
you  that  you  would  plunge  thus  recklessly 
into  the  tied-up  part  of  a  now  reformed 
bachelor  ?  That  particular  bundle  is  least 
of  all  fit  for  a  sister's  perusal." 

''If  Caroline  neglected  her  duty,"  she 


AN  UNDRESS  REHEARSAL       115 

retorted,  "  that  is  no  reason  why  I  should 
do  the  same.     I  want  to  see  them." 

"  You  had  better  take  these  instead,"  I 
returned,  pushing  towards  her  a  tray  of 
wedding  cards. 

"I  insist." 

"  You  insist  ?  "  I  replied,  in  the  tone  of 
one  speaking  to  a  naughty  child.  "  How 
old  are  you.  Miss  Dixon  ?  " 

She  laughed. 

"  I  think  I  am  a  good  deal  older  than 
you,  KoUo,  in  this  respect ;  I  don't  keep 
letters  as  I  did  when  I  was  a  sentimental 
schoolgirl.  I  destroy  that  kind."  And  she 
nodded  towards  the  bundle. 

"  Indeed  ? "  I  said.  "  And  why  did  you 
not  tell  me  sooner  ?  That  would  have  been 
valuable  information  to  me  at  one  time." 

"And  why?" 

"  I  might  have  written  a  good  deal  more 
than  I  did." 

"  You  never  wrote  anything  unfitted  for 
my  sheltered  youth,"  she  replied,  quietly 
smiling,  and  burrowing  one  foot  deeper 
into  the  cavernous  recesses  of  a  slipper. 

"  I  don't  post  all  I  write,"  I  corrected, 


116  THE  COMPLEAT  BACHELOR 

"  but  I  liave  written  things  that  would 
have  amazed  a  Bassishaw — and  thought 
twice  about  it." 

"  Bassishaw  doesn't  say  much  in  his  let- 
ters," she  said  musingly.  She  and  Caro- 
line were  very  good  friends,  and  there  had 
doubtless  been  a  good  deal  of  inter-feminine 
confidence  between  them. 

"  But  why  don't  you  post  them  ?  " 

"  Oh,"  I  replied  offhand,  "  they  are  ex- 
periments. It  is  another  way  of  keeping 
a  diary.  Perhaps,  after  all,  you  may  see 
them  if  you  care  to.  They  are  merely 
studies  in  moods." 

I  untied  the  packet. 

"  Here  you  are,"  I  continued.  ^^  Arthur 
Bassishaw,  Esq.,  on  the  occasion  of  his 
engagement  to  Caroline.  Good  advice — but 
a  little  too  late.  It  wouldn't  have  been 
taken,  anyway,  from  what  I  know  of 
His  Omnipotent  Youthfulness.  Never 
posted." 

"It  might  have  been  worth  while  to 
post  it  for  the  sake  of  reply,"  Millicent  re- 
turned smiling ;  "  you  'd  have  had  some- 
thing badly  written,  but  very  ardent." 


AN  UNDRESS  REHEARSAL        IIT 

I  shook  ray  head. 

"Bassishaw's  sword  would  be  a  good 
deal  mightier  than  his  pen,"  I  replied.  "  To 
see  him  in  the  throes  of  composition  is  a 
felicity  I  have  hitherto  missed.  Now  here 's 
another :  to  Caroline,  on  the  same  occasion. 
That,  Millicent,  cost  me  some  trouble  to 
write,  and  I  am  afraid  it  showed  it — I  have 
only  one  sister,  you  know.     Unposted." 

"  That  was  rather  nice  of  you,  Kollo, 
''  she  said. 

"  I  should  only  have  given  myself  away," 
I  returned.  "  Now  this,  to  Mrs.  Bassishaw, 
is  one  of  two — the  other  one  was  posted. 
It  was  a  hard  alternative.  I  sent  the  usual 
nice  thing;  Mrs.  Bassishaw  would  under- 
stand that.  This  " — I  tapped  the  envelope 
— "would  have  appeared  difficult  to  a 
widow  still  young,  and  still  in  the  running 
with  her  own  son." 

Millicent  nodded.  There  were  reasons 
for  Mrs.  Bassishaw 's  conduct  which  her 
relatives  approved  and  her  friends  condoned. 

"  These,"  I  continued,  turning  over  two 
or  three,  "  are  small  ebullitions  that  served 
their  end  in  leaving  me  in  a  better  temper ; 


118  THE  COMPLEAT  BACHELOR 

and  in  one  at  least  of  them  I  evaded  a 
state  of  mind  in  which  I  was  feeling  very 
Sony  for  myself.  It  is  a  good  game,  don't 
you  think  ? " 

"  Excellent,"  she  returned,  "  from  the 
point  of  view  of  your  future  biographer. 
I  suppose  you  have  one  eye  on  the  memoir- 
writer,  Kollo.  Is  your  statue  to  be  eques- 
trian ? " 

I  waived  reply  magnanimously,  and 
went  on. 

"  Here  is  one  to  Mrs.  Loring  Chatterton ; 
and  not  unconnected  with  it,  one  to  your- 
self." 

"  One  to  me  ?  "  she  inquired,  looking  up. 
"  Why  to  me  ?  What  mood  did  that  exem- 
plify?" 

"  I  think,  Millicent,"  I  replied,  "  that  1 
must  have  felt  rather  a  regard  for  you  that 
evening." 

She  bowed  ironically. 

"  It  is  nice  to  be  thought  well  of,"  she 
replied,  "  even  if  the  regard  does  stop  at 
the  posting  point.  It  was  a  wet  night,  I 
suppose  ;  or  the  servants  had  gone  to  bed  ? " 

"  The  fires  of  the  heart,  Millicent,^'  I  an- 


AN  UNDRESS  REHEARSAL       119 

swered,  in  pompous  periods,  at  which  she 
only  laughed,  "  are  not  quenched  by  rain. 
Yon  gutters  that  run  so  musically  could  no 
more " 

"  ^  Oh,  Captain  Shaw  ! ' "  she  sang  softly, 
" '  type  of  true  love  kept  under '  " 

I  leaned  back,  tapping  the  letter  with 
the  ends  of  my  fingers,  and  signified  my 
willingness  to  wait  until  her  operatic  fer- 
vour should  have  spent  itself. 

"  It  must  have  been  f erverish,"  she  said, 
still  laughing.  "  Did  it  take  you  long  to 
write  ? " 

"  About  eight  years  Millicent,"  I  replied. 

"  And  not  to  be  posted  after  all  ?  Never 
mind ;  I  suppose  I  shall  see  it  in  the  bi- 
ography.    I  declare   I  'm   almost  curious, 

RoUo.     Tell  me,  is  it ? "     She  paused, 

and  looked  fairly  and  quietly  at  me,  with 
an  odd  smile  on  her  lips. 

"  It  is,"  I  replied,  returning  her  gaze. 
"  Would  you  care  to  read  it,  Millicent  ? " 

She  rose  and  went  to  the  window.  A 
cold  grey  light  that  heralded  the  passing  of 
the  shower  filled  the  room.  The  heavens 
were  relenting,  and  already  a  corner  of  the 


120  THE  COMPLEAT  BACHELOR 

leaden  pall  had  lifted.  Millicent  wotdd 
probably  take  the  opportunity  to  leave. 

"Would  you  care  to  read  it?"  I  re- 
peated, looking  over  my  shoulder. 

She  faced  round  suddenly. 

"No,  Kollo,"  she  said,  "I  should  not." 

"You  are  probably  right,"  I  replied. 
"Proposal  is  a  venerable  formality;  but 
the  inevitable  scene " 

She  walked  back  from  the  window  and 
stood  before  me,  dignified  in  her  hetero- 
geneous attire  and  perfectly  serious. 

"  I  thought  you  knew  better  than  that, 
RoUo,"  she  said.  "I  don't  think  there 
would  be  any  scene,  and,  anyway,  I  'm  not 
in  my  first  season,  you  know."  She  smiled 
the  same  queer  smile.  "  But  if  you  think 
that  I  should  be  interested  in  such  a  matter 
merely  as  an — experiment  in  mood — you 
wrong  me,  RoUo ;  and  if,  on  the  other  hand, 
I  am  to  take  it  in  the  plainer  sense,  I  should 
like  something  less  warmed  up  and  out  of 
date.  You  can  hardly  call  it  fervid,  can 
you?" 

I  admired  Millicent  in  that  moment.  I 
rose  and  took  her  hand. 


AN  UNDRESS  REHEARSAL        121 

" Millicent,"  I  said,  "I  accept  your  re- 
buke. There  is  nothing  further  to  be  said 
— just  now  ;  but  soon " 

She  laughed  her  accustomed  laugh,  the 
same  old  Millicent  again. 

"  I  shall  be  perfectly  willing  to  consider 
any  representations  you  may  have  to  make 
on  the  subject,  Eollo,  provided  they  are 
forwarded  in  the  ordinary  course.  Will 
you  ring  for  tea  ? " 


122   THE  COMPLEAT  BACHELOR 


XI 

QUEEN  OF  LOVE  AND  BEAUTY 

From  what  I  was  able  to  gather,  the 
course  of  young  Ted  CarmichaeFs  love 
was  highly  meritorious  in  its  constancy. 
His  affection  was  a  solid,  reliable  fact,  and, 
to  me,  correspondingly  uninteresting.  His 
father,  I  remembered,  had,  years  before, 
wooed  little  Alice  Chatterton  on  much  the 
same  lines,  between  which  two  it  had 
been  what  their  friends  called  an  "  under- 
stood thing,"  since  the  first  bashful  glances 
of  adolescence.  In  both  cases  this  trait 
was  regarded  as  a  highly  commendable 
faithfulness,  and  invested  with  the  usual 
attributes  of  true  and  undying  love ;  but 
to  me  it  had  less  of  this  positive  quality 
than  appeared,  and  argued  rather  a  certain 
paucity  of  invention  in  the  finer  relations 
of  amorous  adventure.     It  was  admirable, 


QUEEN  OF  LOVE  AND  BEAUTY  123 

but  the  case  was  settled  from  the  begin- 
ning, and  offered  little  field  for  speculation, 
even  its  incidental  tiffs  and  mischances 
being  in  their  rise  and  end  perfectly 
accountable.  In  the  case  of  the  son,  his 
three  terms  at  Eton,  coming  when  they 
did,  might  have  resulted  in  a  break  from 
this  monotonous  routine  of  laudable  love; 
his  father  had  been  hopeless  from  the  start. 
But  Miss  Nellie  Bassishaw  bade  fair 
for  freer  flights.  During  the  occasional 
intervals  of  my  seeing  her  she  seemed  to 
grow  in  sections  and  to  develop  in  sea- 
sons, and  now,  emancipated  from  the 
last  suggestion  of  governess,  was  gowned 
and  coifed  beyond  the  limit  of  girlhood. 
True,  her  neck  still  showed  a  whitish 
celery  colour  from  the  unhabitual  expos- 
ure, and  in  the  management  of  her  feet 
and  skirt  the  last  trace  of  the  tomboy 
was  disappearing;  but  she  displayed  be- 
neath an  eminently  suitable  hat  glances 
that  promised  in  the  near  future  a  hun- 
dred roguishnesses  and  mischiefs.  If 
anything  could  shake  Ted's  devotion, 
Miss  Nellie,  I  decided,  had  it. 


124  THE  COMPLEAT  BACHELOR 

Young  Ted  called  on  me  one  afternoon 
for  no  reason  at  all  that  I  could  discover 
during  the  first  half-hour  of  his  visit.  He 
was  clad  point-devise^  bore  his  gloves  and 
cane  with  admirable  instinct,  and  looked  as 
fresh  and  trim  a  youth  as  ever  received  the 
half -motherly  kiss  of  a  widow.  I  greeted 
him  with  pleasure. 

"And  the  match,  Ted?"  I  asked,  when 
he  had  sat  down ;  "  how  do  you  feel  ? " 

— Ted  was  the  youngest  member  of  the 
Eton  eleven,  which  was  to  meet  Harrow  in 
the  annual  match  at  Lord's  in  a  day  or  two. 

A  troubled  look  crossed  his  face. 

"  I  don't  feel  a  bit  up  to  it,  Buttei'field," 
he  replied.  "  I  shall  go  and  mess  the  con- 
founded thing,  I  know  I  shall.  A  fellow 
who 's  playing  cricket  shouldn't  have  any- 
thing on  his  mind — that  is •" 

He  paused,  and  flushed  half  angrily. 

"  Anything  wrong  ? "  I  asked  in  an  off- 
hand tone. 

"No,"  he  replied — an  affirmative  "no," 
— "  nothing  that  matters." 

"Only?"  I  prompted. 

"  Only  this,"  he  answered  with  another 


QUEEN  OF  LOVE  AND  BEAUTY  125 

flusli,  "  that  women  oughtn't  to  have  any- 
thing to  do  with  cricket." 

"  From  my  experience,"  I  returned,  "  they 
are  invariably  proud  to  see  their  sons  play- 
ing." 

"  Sons  ! "  he  replied.  «  Oh,  it  isn't  that 
— I  know  my  mother  is  all  right.  But  it 
doesn't  matter — much,"  he  concluded,  in  a 
tone  that  was  not  intended  as  a  hint  to  let 
the  matter  drop. 

"Ah,  I  see,"  I  replied  sympathetically. 
"  Sorry,  Ted.  Of  coarse,  that  does  make 
a  difference.     When  you  said  'women,'  I 

thought  for  a  moment   you ^Yes,    it's 

very  awkward.  To  know  that  in  such  a 
crowd  two  eyes  are  aching  with  anxiety 
that  you  should  acquit  yourself  well  must 
be  extremely  trying  to  the  nerves.  I 
should  try  to  forget  it." 

He  fidgeted  with  his  gloves,  and  then 
turned  sharp  round. 

"  And  suppose  they  were  not  anxious  ?  " 
he  retorted.  "Suppose  they  didn't  care 
whether  you  came  off  or  not  ?  Hang  it, 
Butterfield,"  he  continued,  "  you  can  im- 
agine what  it 's  like — they  think  because  a 


126  THE  COMFLEAT  BACHELOR 

fellow  hasn't  a  moustaclie — it 's  enough  to 
make  a  fellow  go  and  drink  rotten  stuff.  I 
shan't  stand  it." 

It  was  Nellie.  I  got  it  all  out  of  him. 
He  had  evidently  come  to  tell  me.  The 
rude  health  of  public  school  life  had  not 
knocked  the  fancy  out  of  him,  and  he  had 
come  back  to  find  her  grown  up  and  with  a 
tendency  to  be  interested  in  men  ten  years 
her  senior.  How  he  had  managed  to  get 
into  the  first  eleven  and  to  remain  in  love 
was  to  me  one  of  the  mysteries  of  con- 
stancy. 

"  But  I  thought  you  would  have  forgotten 
almost,  Ted,"  I  said,  in  the  maturity  of 
our  confidence.  "  It 's  a  year  since  you  went 
away." 

"A  fellow  never  forgets,"  he  replied 
sulkily.  "  It 's  the  girls  who  forget.  Could 
you?" 

I  passed  the  point,  and  speculated  on  the 
validity  of  pledges  on  eternity. 

"And  she  has — pardon  me — snubbed 
you  ? "  I  inquired,  after  a  while. 

"  Well,  no,"  he  rejoined  dubiously,  "  it 
isn't  quite  that ;  but  she  always  seems  to 


QUEEN  OF  LOVE  AND  BEAUTY  127 

have  engagements  or  something.  She  must 
always  ^  be  going  now,'  and  she  's  altered 
so.  I  told  her  so,  and  she  said  we  were 
silly  then  ;  and  if  I  muii*  this  match  it  will 
be  worse  than  ever." 

I  couldn't  help  thinking  that  if  I  had 
organised  the  female  mind  I  should  have 
done  it  more  consistently  ;  but  then  there 
would  probably  have  been  no  comedy  in 
the  world.  I  was  willing  to  help  Ted  all  I 
could,  and  advised  a  spontaneous  gaiety  in 
her  presence — Ted  shook  his  head — or  fail- 
ing that,  a  desperate  counter-movement 
with  a  married  woman ;  a  notion  he  also 
rejected. 

The  only  suggestion  Ted  had  to  make 
was  that  I  should  go  to  the  match,  contrive 
to  sit  next  to  Miss  Nell,  and — what,  he 
didn't  say ;  a  delicate  reserve  I  admired. 

"  You  're  a  good  chap,  you  know,  Butter- 
field,"  he  added.  "  I  've  told  lots  of  our  fel- 
lows what  a  good  chap  you  are.  Harrop 
major  says  so  too — he  met  you  once,  you 
know,  Butterfield." 

I  fear  I  had  forgotten  Harrop  major  in 
the  multiplicity  of  my  affairs,  but  I  was 


128  THE  COMPLEAT  BACHELOR 

properly  touched.  I  smiled  at  my  own 
goodness. 

"  Well,  thanks  awfully,  Butterfield  "—he 
rose  to  go — "  it 's  awfully  good  of  you  really. 
You  're  a  brick." 

"Thanks,  Ted,"  I  returned.  "I  hope 
you  '11  come  off  all  right  in  the  match." 

His  lips  twitched  queerly ;  I  forbore  to 
press  the  alternative  contingency,  and  he 
took  his  leave. 

My  duty,  apparently,  was  to  keep  an  eye 
on  Miss  Nell,  to  diagnose  her  condition 
when  Ted  went  in  to  bat,  to  mark  how,  as 
should  befall,  his  success  or  failure  was  re- 
ceived, and  to  exercise  a  discretionary  super- 
vision over  the  state  of  her  heart  as  revealed 
by  the  vicissitudes  of  the  game.  It  was 
doubtful  of  what  precise  use  I  should  be, 
but — it  was  interesting,  and  Ted  was  a 
pleasant-mannered  youth. 

It  was  peculiarly  interesting  in  view  of 
the  fact  that  the  Carmichaels  were  a  cricket- 
ing family.  Now  the  purely  abstract  part 
of  the  game  was  a  cult  to  which  I  had  never 
aspired,  my  only  interest  being  in  such 
personal  cases   as  that  of  my  young  friend 


QUEEN  OF  LOVE  AND  BEAUTY  129 

Ted.  I  was  convinced  that  the  progress  of 
Carmicliael  senior's  love,  if  it  had  had  a 
progress,  was  accelerated  by  the  fact  that 
he  had,  in  Ms  Eton  match,  made  fifty  on 
a  wet  ticket ;  and  the  question  whether  a 
similar  performance  on  the  son's  part  would 
please  Nellie,  or  whether  Nellie  would  be 
merely  pleased  to  see  Ted  pleased  with 
himself,  was  a  speculation  which  I  followed 
into  the  nicer  nuances. 

Our  party  accounted  for  a  considerable 
segment  of  bench  space,  the  apex  of  which, 
I  contrived  it,  consisted  of  Miss  Nell  and 
myself.  We  were  backed  by  tiers  of  Car- 
michaels,  Chattertons,  and  Bassishaws,  and 
penetrated  wedge- wise  into  half  a  division 
of  Eton  younglings,  with  close-cropped  hair 
and  large  ears,  which  looked  frank  admi- 
ration at  Nellie.  One  keeper  of  the  public 
manners  with  freckles  and  an  even  greater 
extent  of  white  collar  than  the  rest  cuffed 
his  neighbour  for  saying  that  she  was  stun- 
ning. Nellie  heard  and  laughed.  She  sat 
provokingly  upright,  and  shot  enfilading 
glances  to  left  and  right  beneath  the  brim  of 
a  hat  remarkably  adapted  to  such  proceed- 
9 


130  THE  COMPLEAT  BACHELOR 

ings.  A  pretty,  slim  thing  slie  was,  and  the 
careless  white  flash  between  her  lips  un- 
settled Ted  considerably,  who  was  paying 
uneasy  flying  visits. 

"  I  think  the  Harrow  boys  look  nicer," 
she  said,  with  a  look  of  illicit  pleasure  from 
the  shade  of  that  eminently  suitable  hat ; 
and  Ted  left  with  ill-feigned  unconcern.  I 
remembered  my  mission,  and  leaned  to- 
wards her. 

"  Nellie,"  I  said,  "  do  you  consider  that  an 
encouraging  remark  to  a  young  man  whose 
happiness  depends  on  his  playing  a  straight 
bat  and  keeping  his  head  cool  ? " 

"  Oh,  Ted's  all  right,"  she  returned  with, 
I  was  pleased  to  observe,  a  touch  of  shame ; 
"  besides,  what  does  it  matter  ?  It 's  only  a 
game." 

She  might  have  had  her  answer  from  the 
group  of  Eton  juvenility  surrounding  us, 
which  broke  into  excited  babble. 

"  Yes,  you  can."  "  No,  you  can't."  "  You 
can't  be  caught  oif  your  pads.  Fat  lot  you 
know  about  cricket."  "Silly  ass."  And 
so  forth. 

"  But,  Mr.  Buttei-field,"  she  said  after  a 


QUEEN  OF  LOVE  AND  BEAUTY  131 

moment,  "  lie  will  be  so  unbearable  if  he 
makes  a  lot  of  runs.  He's  important 
enough  already  at  being  in  the  eleven." 

She  stooped  and  spoke  to  young  Eton  on 
her  right,  who  blushed  at  the  distinction, 
but  answered  with  bashful  coldness. 

"  Besides,"  she  continued,  "  they  say  his 
average  is  thirty,  and  I  'm  sure  I  don't  care 
who  wins." 

Luckily  this  treasonable  utterance  was 
unheard  by  the  Eton  boys,  with  whom  senti- 
ment and  cricket  hung  in  highly  dispropor- 
tionate balance.  I  was  satisfied,  at  least, 
that  if  it  came  to  the  worst  she  would  be 
sorry  for  Ted. 

Now,  Eton  batted  first,  and  there  was 
little  talk  in  our  strongly  prejudiced 
quarter.  Ted  Carmichael,  I  gathered  from 
my  neighbours,  was  to  go  in  "  third  wicket 
down."  He  had  made  a  last  visit — this 
time  from  a  different  entrance — but  had 
avoided  Nell,  sitting  next  to  Bassishaw  in- 
stead, who  had  not  tried  to  talk  to  him. 
Then  he  had  disappeared. 

*  -sf  -se-  -sf  * 

I  knew  in  my  soul  what  was  going  to 


182  THE  COMPLEAT  BACHELOR 

happen.  Ted's  nervousness  at  his  first 
match,  and  the  condescending  interest  of 
Miss  Nellie  Bassishaw,  could  only  have  one 
result ;  and  I  was  so  busy  speculating  on 
the  mysteries  of  this  dread  fatality  that 
hems  us  so  remorselessly  about,  that  I  for- 
got the  scene  for  a  moment,  and  was  startled 
back  by  the  juvenile  clamour.  The  inevi- 
table had  happened. 

"  Oh  ! "  "  Oh,  I  say  !  "  "  What  a  trim- 
mer!"  '' Just  on  the  bails  ! "  "First  ball!" 
"  —broke  from  the  off  !  "  "  It  didn't—  it 
was  a  straight  ball."    "  Four  for  fifty-three." 

Ted  was  out,  for  a  duck. 

I  glanced  at  the  slender  white  figure 
trailing  a  fruitless  bat  towards  the  pavil- 
ion, and  adjusted  the  knees  of  my  trousers. 
I  commented  mentally  on  the  pattern,  and 
waited. 

She  did  not  speak,  but  absently  pulled 
oif  a  glove.  The  Carmichaels  behind 
slowly  resumed  their  talk,  and  the  Eton 
boys,  after  marking  their  scoring  cards, 
took  up  the  current  of  the  game.  True 
liberals,  with  them  the  issue  transcended 
the  individual. 


QUEEN  OF  LOVE  AND  BEAUTY  133 

Still  she  did  not  speak,  but  folded  and 
unfolded  the  gloves.  I  glanced  up,  and 
that  eminently  becoming  hat  did  not  seem 
the  same,  so  inseparably  had  it  been  con- 
nected with  the  lurking  ambuscade  of 
eyes.     Miss  Nell  was  visibly  shaken. 

I  leaned  towards  her. 

"  It  's  only  a  game,  Nellie "  I  be- 
gan.    She  interrupted  me  with  a  look. 

"  Please  don't  be  mean,  Mr.  Butteriield. 
I  know  what  you  think — you  think  it 's  all 
my  fault." 

I  was  silent  for  Ted's  sake,  and  she  con- 
tinued slowly : 

"  I  don't  see  why  men  should  think  so 
much  of  cricket.     It  makes  them  so " 

*'  So  unbearable  when  they  come  off," 
I  replied.  "  But  he  must  have  been  very 
nervous,  Nellie,  whether  or  no.  You 
couldn't  help  that.  Your  encouragement 
would  probably  have  disturbed  him  just 
as  much  as  your — as  not.  That  is  the 
double  influence  of  woman  on  the  man  of 
action — neither  her  smiles  nor  her  frowns 
help  him  ia  the  least.  Her  approval  is 
pleasant  when  it 's  all  over,  but  I  'm  afraid 


134  THE  COMPLEAT  BACHELOR 

the  presence  of  the  Queen  of  Love  and 
Beauty  has  unhorsed  many  a  gallant  youth 
before  to-day.  He  makes  the  mistake 
in " 

"  In  having  anything  to  do  with  them  ? " 
she  queried  v^ith  pretty  cynicism. 

I  leaned  back. 

"  No.  In  being  a  man  of  action,"  I  re- 
turned. 

There  was  a  sudden  turn  and  hush  among 
the  Eton  boys.  Ted  reappeared,  and  they 
were  awed  in  the  presence  of  a  great  grief. 
He  sat  down  next  to  me  with  the  hard  look 
of  one  who  asks  no  sympathy,  folded  his 
hands,  and  stared  at  his  shoes.  The  Eton 
boys  whispered. 

"  And  they  play  me  for  my  batting,"  he 
said,  so  softly  that  I  scarcely  heard.  "  I  'm  a 
bat — a  bat.     I  'm  here  to  make  runs." 

The  Weltschmerz  had  sunk  into  his  soul. 
I  was  about  to  say  something,  but  checked 
myself  as  Nellie  bent  forward. 

"  Ted,"  she  said,  "  I  'm  so  sorry.  It 's  all 
my  fault." 

I  folded  my  arms,  looking  before  me. 
Ted  did  not  move  an  inch. 


QUEEN  OF  LOVE  AND  BEAUTY  135 

"I  was  horrid,"  she  continued,  "and  I 
pretended " 

She  stopped,  conscious  of  the  significance 
of  what  she  was  about  to  say.  She  had 
pretended  to  be  unconscious  of  her  empire 
over  his  heart,  and  was  now  retracting. 
Miss  Nellie  is  the  modern  girl,  with  whom 
proposal  is  unnecessary. 

Ted  cut  her  short  with  the  brutality  of 
male  desperation. 

"  All  right,  Nellie,"  he  said  curtly.  "  It 's 
not  your  fault.     I  drank  brandy." 

This  was  a  surprise  to  me.  Brandy 
steadies  the  nerves,  but  it  is  a  remedy  not 
recommended  by  the  captains  of  cricket 
elevens,  and  his  boyish  devilry,  as  training, 
was  as  reprehensible  as  it  was  in  the  spirit 
of  the  comedy.  But  Nellie  saw  further 
than  Ted. 

"  Oh,  Ted,"  she  said  humbly,  "  and  that 
is  my  fault  too.  I  made  you  angry.  Will 
you  forgive  me  ?  " 

It  has  always  seemed  to  me  that  when  a 
pretty,  half -tearful  creature  asks  you  if  you 
will  forgive  her,  the  question  is  beside  the 
mark,  the  forgiveness  not  depending    on 


136   THE  COMPLEAT  BACHELOR 

whether  you  will  or  not.  You  are  not 
willing  ;  you  would  much  rather  not ;  but 
— you  do  precisely  as  Ted  did  ;  he  squeezed 
her  ungloved  hand  across  my  knee,  and  an 
Eton  boy  sniggered. 

I  don't  know  why  I  should  have  ex- 
perienced a  sensation  as  near  akin  to 
jealousy  as  I  can  locate  it.  I  pursued  the 
moral  labyrinth  for  a  time,  and,  getting  no 
nearer,  was  fain  to  come  to  earth. 

"  And  the  next  innings,  Ted "  Nellie 

was  saying. 

Alas!  What  then?  What,  in  Ted's 
words,  had  women,  even  Queens  of  Love 
and  Beauty,  to  do  with  cricket  ?  More 
subtle  in  their  influence  than  the  forbid- 
den brandy,  why  do  not  the  captains  de- 
mand that  their  followers  shall  be  bachelors 
unattached  ?  Ted  was  too  blessedly  hap- 
py to  know  ;  certainly  too  happy  to  be  let 
alone.     I  spoke  for  his  own  good. 

"  The  next  innings,"  I  remarked,  "  will 
exemplify  the  second  stage  of  the  female 
relation  to  the  man  of  action." 

I  don't  think  either  of  them  took  the 
trouble  to  understand. 


A  MODERN  SABINE  137 


XII 

A   MODERN     SABINE 

"  Ah,  that 's  the  trouble.  We  're  all  far 
too  complex  nowadays." 

"  We  live  in  a  complex  age,"  I  returned 
profoundly. 

"  True,  very  true,"  he  replied,  and 
twisted  the  ribbon  of  his  eyeglass  round 
one  finger.  "Very  little  is  left  that  is 
simple  and  primitive  and  beautiful." 

I  favoured  him  with  the  cosmic  shrug  of 
his  cult,  and  said  nothing  eloquently.  The 
understanding  was  complete. 

Cicely  Vicars's  "evening"  was  ground 
I  had  not  hitherto  explored,  and  I  had 
marked  for  my  own  at  once  the  young  man 
drooping  mincingly  over  the  piano.  He 
was  smooth  and  fair,  inclined  to  premature 
stoutness,  and  looked  remotely.  Mrs. 
Yicars  informed  me  that  he  was  a  play- 


138   THE  COMPLEAT  BACHELOR 

Wright,  a  dramatic  critic,  and  a  Fashion; 
that  he  promised  brilliant  things,  and  that 
the  name  under  which  he  wrought  was 
Eleanor  Macquoid.  She  added  that  he  had 
intuition  beyond  his  years. 

Now  people  went  to  Mrs.  Vicars's  "  eve- 
ning "  for  intellectual  intercourse  and  the 
exchange  of  ideas — an  object  in  which  they 
would  not  be  balked.  Carrie  had  said  as 
much  to  me. 

"You  ought  to  come,  Rol,"  she  had  re- 
marked on  one  occasion.  "  It 's  so — it 's 
awfully  new,  Rol,  really." 

"  Indeed  ?  "  I  had  said.  "  In  what  way 
is  it  particularly — ^pardon  me — up  to 
date?" 

"  Oh,"  she  replied,  "  it 's  so  real^  Rollo." 
Then,  reassuringly,  "  They  don't  talk  about 
the  soul,  you  know — you  needn't  be  afraid 
of  that.  It's — it's  instinct.  The  soul  is 
quite  too  old,  you  know." 

"A  full  season  behind,"  I  assented 
gravely.  "  And  so  the  soul,  chez  Mrs. 
Vicars,  is  superseded  in  favour  of  the 
dilettante  animal  ?  Is  that  so,  my  sis- 
ter?" 


A  MODERN  SABINE  139 

"  Yes,"  she  agreed  doubtfully,  aud  added, 
"  Of  course  there  are  outsiders." 

It  turned  out,  as  Caroline  had  said,  to  be 
Instinct,  Primal  Sanity,  and  the  Elemental 
Paganism,  and  very  prettily  put  I  heard  it. 
No  one  was  hlase.  They  said  so.  They 
were  enthusiastic.  My  young  man  declared 
it  with  an  animation  that  brought  him  near 
to  spilling  the  liqueur  carefully  poised  on 
his  knee.  He  spoke  of  the  keen  joy  of  living, 
delicately  and  epigrammatically,  digressing 
to  observe  that  he  preferred  Indian  cigar- 
ettes to  Brazilian,  and  adding  that  after  all 
there  was  nothing  like  the  great  rough  kind- 
nesses of  the  Mother  Earth.  Cicely  Vicars's 
gathering  was  indisputably  in  the  vanguard 
of  the  latest  cry. 

Mr.  Eleanor  Macquoid  seemed  to  take  to 
me,  for  he  spoke  almost  immediately  of 
"  people  who  understand."  I  was  evidently 
admitted  on  sight  to  the  mystery,  and  im- 
proved the  occasion  accordingly.  I  exam- 
ined my  finger  nails — I  had  seen  him  do 
so — and  dropped  nly  pearls  of  wisdom  non- 
chalantly, as  not  expecting  they  would  be 
gathered  up. 


140  THE  COMPLEAT  BACHELOR 

He  was  talking  softly,  and  almost  sleep- 
ily, on  tlie  picturesqueness  of  Mass  and 
Brute  Bulk. 

"  There  is  something  quite  Titanic,"  he 
said,  "  in  the  conception  of  a  world  where 
nothing  was  as  yet  ruled  and  squared  out 
for  us;  where  everything  was  vague  and 
shifting." 

"  It  is  an  especially  gigantic  thought," 
I  replied  appreciatively.  "  The  insistence 
nowadays  of  the  Social  Nexus " 

I  paused,  and  he  nodded  comprehend- 
ingly  at  the  cue. 

"Yes,"  he  replied,  "that  also  is  true. 
Ah,  if  it  were  only  possible  to  escape  from 
the  bewildering  system  into  the  clean  fields 
and  the  rain- washed  heather " 

"  To  evade  the  ever-present  Self,  and  to 
take  refuge  in  the  great  unhewn  passions  ?  " 
I  queried  gently. 

"Exactly,"  he  replied,  again  carefully 
contemplating  his  nails,  "to  know  again 
the  crude  and  volcanic  life.  Everything 
is  tertiary  in  these  days — we  have  no  pri- 
maries.    Nothing  rude  or  red." 

I  forbore  to  challenge  the  remark  as  to 


A  MODERK  SABINE  141 

rudeness,  and  agreed  that  from  my  obser- 
vation it  hardly  appeared  to  be  an  age  of 
epics.  He  approved,  passing  his  hand  over 
his  sleek,  clean  hair. 

"  And  yet,"  he  continued,  judicially 
weighing  each  word,  and  turning  to  the 
nails  of  the  other  hand,  "  and  yet — why  ? 
Why  should  we,  the  heirs  of  the  centuries, 
be  in  reality  the  slaves  of  them  ?  Why 
should  we  not  love,  for  instance,  as  the 
rugged,  forgotten  ones  loved  ?  Why  should 
we  love  through  the  post-office  and  by 
chaperon  age — through  engagements  and 
marriages  ?     Why  should  we  not " 

He  forbore  to  say  what,  and  sighed,  ap- 
parently for  the  days  when  he  might  have 
loved  with  a  stone  axe  in  untracked  forests 
and  through  rivers  in  flood.  I  offered  him 
a  cigarette. 

He  lighted  it,  and  gazing  before  him  as 
though  he  were  culling  a  nascent  thought 
from  the  smoke,  went  on  slowly  and  pro- 
phetically. 

"  Nevertheless,"  he  said,  more  softly  than 
ever,  "  the  strong  man  shall  come ;  and 
when  he  shall  appear — the  man  for  whom 


142  THE  COMFLEAT  BACHELOR 

we  are  waiting — the  man  wlio  sliall  break 
the  bonds  and  go  back — back " 

It  was  a  characteristic  of  most  of  his 
sentences  that  he  finished  them  by  watch- 
ing the  films  of  smoke  before  him.  This 
time  he  made  a  remarkably  perfect  smoke 
ring.  I  thought  of  Caroline,  and  wondered 
what  she  was  doing  in  such  a  milieu, 

I  was  fain  to  speak. 

''  And  what  form  of  creative  expression 
do  you  adopt,  Mr.  Macquoid  ? "  I  asked 
gracefully. 

He  replied  with  a  modest  diffidence : 

"  The  drama.  One  is  but  a  mouthpiece 
— a  medium;  yet  the  speech  from  living 
lips  with  the  living  person  before  the 
eyes " 

"  You  are  doubtless  right,"  I  replied ; 
"  words  are  unconvincing ;  things  must  be 
seen  to  be  believed." 

He  noticed  nothing,  and  proceeded  to 
speak  of  the  modern  French  chansonette. 

Now  Caroline,  I  remembered,  had,  before 
her  engagement,  accounted  for  a  large 
portion  of  her  time  in  putting  together  the 
materials  for  a  comedy,   which,   however, 


A  MODERN  SABINE  143 

she  had  since  discontinued  under  the  some- 
M^iat  exclusive  demands  of  courtship.  I 
had  never  been  privileged  to  see  the  work 
in  question,  but  understood  that  a  knotty 
proposal  scene  had,  coincidentally,  been 
adandoned  precisely  at  the  time  that  she 
could,  had  she  wished,  have  given  it  an 
autobiographical  interest.  Bassishaw's 
love,  besides  interrupting  the  course  of  art, 
bade  fair  to  cut  it  off  altogether  just  when 
it  would  have  given  the  true  note  that  the 
stage,  it  is  declared,  is  aching  for.  But 
even  young  authors  have  scruples  in  mak- 
ing their  own  affairs  public,  and  .  so  Caro- 
line had  willed  it. 

Nevertheless,  it  could  do  Caroline  no 
harm  to  meet  Mr.  Eleanor  Macquoid  ;  and 
Mr.  Macquoid  himself  could  do  no  less 
than  accept  resignedly  the  latter-day  lim- 
itations of  love  in  the  presence  of  my  sis- 
ter. After  all,  Mrs.  Vicars's  salon  was  for 
the  interchange  of  ideas. 

"  My  sister,"  I  remarked,  "  is  interested 
in  the  drama,  and  has  herself  half -realised 
aspirations  in  the  way  of  comedy." 

Mr.  Macquoid  would  be  charmed ;  and  I 


144  THE  COMPLEAT  BACHELOR     ' 

presented  him.  I  was  called  away  for  a 
few  moments  by  Mrs.  Vicars.  By  tlie 
time  I  returned  Mr.  Macquoid  was  talk- 
ing, his  remarks  being  apparently  directed 
to  the  point  at  which  Caroline's  comedy 
had  been  relinquished. 

"It  is  difficult,"  he  observed,  with  a 
polite  interest,  "  to  know  what  to  do  with 
one's  young  leads  nowadays.  I  suppose 
they  must  love — the  Philistine  still  clings 
to  the  conventional  love-theme — but  it  is 
all  so  stale.  In  the  old  days  it  was  dif- 
ferent." 

From  the  angle  of  Caroline's  chin  I  saw 
that  it  was  anything  but  stale  to  her,  and 
that  the  remark  was  unfortunate.  She 
was  evidently  of  opinion  that  the  subject 
of  love,  however  much  used,  had  had  any- 
thing but  adequate  treatment,  and  that  in 
one  or  two  important  respects  she  was  in 
a  position  to  direct  a  new  light  on  the 
literary  treatment  of  it. 

"  What  do  you  mean,  Mr.  Macquoid  ? " 
she  asked. 

"  Merely,"  he  replied  casually,  "  that 
there  is  so  little  dash  and — and  high-hand- 


A  MODERN  SABINE  145 

edness  about  our  modern  metliods  of  love- 
making.  You  get  your  couples  together, 
and  they  talk  in  the  same  weary  way — the 
same  old  flat  talk,  talk,  talk " 

I  smiled  at  the  description  as  applied  to 
Bassishaw,  whose  fluency  was  not  remark- 
able, and  Caroline  looked  coldly  before 
her. 

"You  refer  to  the  stage,  Mr.  Mac- 
quoid  ? "  she  asked. 

"I  refer  to  modern  love-making,"  he 
replied  rashly.  "We  have  no  romantic 
methods  left.  It  has  become  a  business 
and  a  bore.  When  we  do  get  it  out  it 's 
one  kiss  and  thank  Heaven  it  's  over." 

Caroline  looked  emphatic  contradiction. 
I  interposed. 

"  The  Roman  soldiery,  it  is  related,"  I 
said,  "  being  once  in  want  of  wives " 

Caroline  interrupted  me  quickly. 

"  I  think,  Mr.  Macquoid,"  she  returned, 
"that  people  love  just  as  passionately 
nowadays  as  they  ever  did." 

He  might  have  seen  what  was  the  mat- 
ter, but  he  was  on  his  own  subject,  and 
went  blindly  at  it. 

lO 


146   THE  COMPLEAT  BACHELOR 

"True,"  he  replied,  "true.  But  the 
surroundings,  the  circumstances,  the  little- 
ness of  everyday  life — they  crush  it  out. 
We  love  by  rule  and  etiquette,  at  social 
functions  and  in  gas-lit  drawing-rooms." 

I  looked  at  Caroline  for  a  confirmation 
of  Bassishaw's  methods,  but  the  personal 
equation  w^as  too  much  for  her  con- 
templation of  the  artistic  side  of  the 
question. 

"  Of  course  we  do,  Mr.  Macquoid,"  she 
returned,  waiving,  it  seemed  to  me,  the 
part  that  had  to  do  with  the  gas.  "  What 
else  can  we  do  ? " 

Eleanor  Macquoid  raised  his  eyebrows 
and  shoulders  in  a  deferential  gesture 
that  was  supposed  to  explain  the  way. 

"The  wind  still  blows,"  he  said,  "the 
rain,  the  open  air " 

"  The  parks,"  I  suggested,  "  are  al- 
ready  " 

" — ^but,"  he  continued,  "we  wear  frock- 
coats  and  carry  umberellas.  We  marry, 
and  our  children  resume  the  same  hope- 
less round.  There  is  no  romance,  no 
poetry,  no  heroism  in  it.     We  become  en- 


A  MODERN  SABINE  147 

gaged  for  a  certain  period  to  please  our 
friends,  and  marry  out  of  consideration 
for  one  another.  We  have  no  impulse,  no 
real  instinct.  We  have  no — no  militant 
love." 

He  seemed  to  receive  a  fresh  start  from 
the  last  phrase,  and,  alas  !  ruined  himseK 
irretrievably. 

"Why,"  he  exclaimed,  "even  those  to 
whom  we  might  look  for  a  vigorous  expres- 
sion of  it — those  who  lead  lives  of  adven- 
turous excitement — our  soldiers  and  sailors 
— are  just  as  bad.  As  you  remarked,  Mr. 
Butterfield,  the  Roman  soldiers " 

The  social  system  might  be  attacked,  dis- 
integrated, and  shown  wanting  in  the  eyes 
of  amateur  modern  paganism  ;  the  spirit  of 
the  age  might  be  arraigned  and  condemned 
by  twenty  juries  of  the  advanced  salons  ; 
modish  culture  might  stalk  hock-deep  in 
the  wreckage  of  civilisation  ;  but — to  Caro- 
line the  prestige  of  the  army  was  vested 
in  the  person  of  Bassishaw.  Bassishaw's 
mode  of  love-making  had  been  compared  to 
its  disfavour  with  the  practices  of  Roman 
legions. 


148  THE  COMPLEAT  BACHELOR 

She  raised  her  head  disdainfully  without 
glancing  at  the  unconscious  Mr.  Eleanor 
Macquoid,  spoke  half  over  her  shoulder, 
and  condemned  a  great  nation  in  Bassi- 
shaw's  defence. 

"I  don't  think  very  highly,  Mr.  Mac- 
quoid, of  the  Romans.  I  think  that  when 
they — that  on  that  occasion  at  least — 
they  were  horrid,  and — and — unnecessarily 
rough,  and  that  nice  people  would  never 
have  done  it.  It  may  make  good  pict- 
ures, but  one  would  rather  be  a  pleasant 
person  than  an  unpleasant  picture.  And 
I  don't  care  a  bit  what  anybody  says  ; 
soldiers  are  just  as  good  as — anybody 
else." 

And  better,  beyond  comparison  better, 
her  shoulders  seemed  to  say  as  she  turned 
away.  Macquoid  shifted  his  other  elbow 
to  the  piano,  and  then  looked  at  me. 

"  1  am  afraid,  Mr.  Butterfield,  that  I  have 
not  been  able  to  help  your  sister  much  in 
the  play.  After  all,  the  real  impulse  must 
come  from  within." 

"  It  is,"  I  replied,  "  a  pleasing  reticence 
when  the  real  impulse  stays  there.     The 


A  MODERN  SABINE  149 

self-sacrifice  imposed  by  art  is  not  neces- 
sarily a  sacrifice  of  one's  self." 

"  Very  true,"  he  answered  approvingly, 
and  took  coffee. 


150   THE  COMPLEAT  BACHELOR 


XIII 


POT  LUCK 


"  Do  you  know,  Butterfield,"  Bassishaw 
said,  "  I  don't  know  kow  you  get  along 
— tkat  is — get  along,  you  know — as  you 
do." 

The  remark  didn't  seem  particularly 
illuminating,  but  he  had  been  silent  for 
ten  minutes,  and  this  appeared  to  be  the 
result  of  his  cogitation. 

"  No  ?  "  I  said  encouragingly. 

"Well,  you  know  what  I  mean,"  he 
replied.  "I  mean  how  you  manage — in 
the  way  you  do,  you  know ;  never  to — 
youVe  never — hang  it,  Butterfield,  why 
don't  you  get  married  ?  " 

"  Oh  !  "  I  answered,  "  I  see.  Of  course. 
I  didn't  quite  catch  the  idea  at  first.  Of 
course.     Why  don't  I  get  married." 

"  Yes,"  he  replied,  much  relieved.     "  You 


POT  LUCK  151 

— ^you  should,  you  know.  It 's  the  finest 
thing  in  the  world — being  engaged,  that 
is.     You  've  no  idea,  really,  Butterfield." 

He  seemed  quite  eager  about  it.  I  put 
my  feet  comfortably  on  the  fender,  and 
waited  for  him  to  expand.  He  kept  his 
eyes  on  the  fire. 

^^  You  know,"  he  went  on  slowly,  "  you  '11 
feel  awfully  lonely  and  all  that — soon, 
that  is — when  Caroline  goes,  I  mean." 

Matchmaking  is  never  a  man's  line ;  he 
draws  back  at  the  very  intimate  point  he 
should  press  home.  Arthur  did  his  best. 
Mrs.  Loring  had  probably  been  talking  to 
him. 

"  I  shall  miss  her  very  much,"  I  replied, 
*'  very  much  indeed  ;  but  to  whom  do  you 
propose  to  marry  me  ?  " 

He  seemed  rather  abashed,  and  a  trifle 
impatient. 

"  Don't  be  an  ass,"  he  said. 

I  could  not  be  certain,  owing  to  the 
firelight,  that  he  blushed,  but  I  chanced  it. 
I  didn't  object  to  these  palpable  attempts 
to  marry  me  to  Millicent  Dixon ;  but  it 
was  disparaging  to  my  intelligence  that  I 


152  THE  COMPLEAT  BACHELOR 

should  be  supposed  not  to  notice  them. 
Anyway,  the  male  element  was  a  new 
feature  in  the  alliance. 

"And  do  you  think  that  she  and  I 
would  be  a  well-matched  pair  ?  "  I  asked. 

He  professed  a  hypocritical  ignorance  as 
to  whom  I  meant.     I  laughed. 

"  Mrs.  Loring,"  I  answered,  "  can  give 
you  points,  Arthur.  You  would  ap- 
parently marry  me  on  general  principles. 
She  particularises." 

We  were  waiting  for  Caroline  and 
Millicent.  Millicent  and  Bassishaw  were 
dining  with  us  that  evening,  and  Bassi- 
shaw had  lately,  I  knew,  been  a  good  deal 
perturbed  on  my  account.  More  than 
once  he  had  timidly  suggested  that  a 
woman's  hand  in  a  place  made  all  the 
difference,  you  know,  and  I  had  caught 
him  glancing  round  my  rooms  with  some- 
thing of  a  disparaging  valuation  of  their 
contents  when  he  should  take  Caroline 
away.  His  friendly  concern,  in  itself,  was 
deserving  of  my  gratitude — ^but  with  this 
qualification,  that  I  don't  believe  he  was 
above  suspecting  that  I   should  take  to 


POT  LUCK  153 

drink  in  the  imminent  solitude  of  my 
bereft  apartments. 

I  was  extracting  from  him  the  fervent 
declaration  that  I  couldn't  imagine  how 
splendid  It — being  engaged — made  you 
feel,  and  that  to  know  that  there  was 
One  upon  whom  et-cetera  et-cetera  For 
Ever,  when  Millicent  and  Caroline  entered. 
We  rose  to  greet  them. 

"How  do  you  do,  Millicent?"  I  said. 
"  I  'm  glad  to  see  you." 

"  Heaven  ! "  she  replied,  "  let  me  come 
near  the  fire.  I  'm  as  cold  as  a  seminary 
breakfast.  How  do  you  do,  Arthur? 
What  a  blessed  blaze !  Don't  go  away, 
Arthur." 

Bassishaw  had  gone  over  to  the  table, 
where  Caroline  was  making  the  last  unneces- 
sary arrangements,  and  was  having  his 
flower  pinned  on. 

"  Oh  !  his  circulation 's  all  right,"  I  re- 
marked. "We  were  once  like  that,"  and 
Millicent,  looking  over  her  shoulder, 
laughed  at  me,  and  said : 

"The  dear  infants!" 

Dinner  was  served,   and   we  took  our 


154  THE  COMPLEAT  BACHELOR 

places.  I  faced  Caroline,  while  Millicent, 
who  was  still  chilly,  and  didn't  mind  the 
fire  at  her  back,  looked  over  the  flowers 
at  Bassishaw;  an  arrangement  as  can  be 
diagrammatically  proved,  offering  facili- 
ties for  between-deck  pressing  of  feet  on 
a  diagonal  plan,  and  which  appeared  to 
suit  my  young  sister  admirably.  I  gave 
her  an  amused  glance,  which  Millicent  in- 
tercepted, and  Carrie  tried,  unsuccessfully, 
to  look  as  if  she  hadn't  done  it. 

"  Never  mind  him,  Carrie,"  Millicent  said 
reassuringly.  "  He 's  an  envious  old  man, 
who 's  wasted  his  youth,  and  he' s  getting 
cynical.  His  failing  years  won't  permit 
him  to  do  such  things  himself,  and  his  con- 
science begins  to  hurt  him." 

This  was  the  woman  without  whom,  in 
Bassishaw's  opinion,  my  abode  fell  short  of 
completeness. 

"  My  failing  years,  Miss  Dixon,"  I  re- 
turned, "  bring  with  them  a  certain  char- 
ity ;  nevertheless,  allow  me  to  point  out 
your  reason  for  condoning  such  prac- 
tices." 

"  Which  is ? "  she  queried. 


POT  LUCK  155 

"That  you  are  quite  capable  of  doing 
the  same  thing  yourself." 

She  laughed,  and  Bassishaw  looked  puz- 
zled. 

"  Oh,  I  'm  not  tottering  to  my  fall  yet," 
she  retorted.  "I  have  all  sorts  of  little 
surprises  in  my  blood." 

"You  forbid  reply,  Miss  Dixon,"  I  an- 
swered. "You  take  refuge  in  a  position 
where  man  can  only  maintain  a  respect- 
ful and  incredulous  silence.  A  woman's 
years " 

" are ? "  she  challenged. 

" and  an  income-tax  return " 


"I  am  beneath  your  roof,  Mr.  Butter 
field,"  she  replied,  with  the  dignity  of  St* 
James's  comedy. 

Caroline  evidently  disapproved  strongly. 
She  caught  my  eye. 

"I  don't  think  you're  a  bit  nice  this 
evening,  RoUo,"  she  said.  "If  I  were 
Millicent " — she  straightened  her  back — "  I 
wouldn't  dine  with  you.  Don't  take  any 
notice  of  him,  Millie  dear." 

"  Perhaps,"  I  replied,  "  the  disparity  in 
years  is  too  great.     Think  so,  Bassishaw  ? " 


166  THE  COMPLEAT  BACHELOR 

I  looked  round  the  flowers  at  him.  He 
seemed  rather  embarrassed,  and  said  noth- 
ing. I  filled  Millieent's  glass,  and  turned 
to  her. 

"  What  do  you  think  Bassishaw  was 
saying  to  me  just  before  you  came  in  ? " 

I  received  a  kick.  Bassishaw,.  behind 
the  flowers,  was  very  red  indeed. 

"Heaven  forbid  that  I  should  guess!" 
Millicent  replied.  "Men  are  frail  crea- 
tures." 

"He  was  speaking,"  I  continued,  "of 
women  as  a  domestic  institution.  No 
home,  he  said,  was  complete  without  one. 
Considered  decoratively,  she  gave  an  air  of 
brightness " 

Bassishaw  must  have  been  as  busy  in 
his  pedipulations  as  an  organist,  for  Caro- 
line peremptorily  held  out  her  glass  to  be 
replenished.     I  continued : 

"  As  a  companion,  he  said,  much  could 
be  forgiven  her.  And  she  had  admirable 
managing  gifts." 

Millicent  bowed  across  the  flowers. 

"  The  sex  thanks  you,  Arthur,"  she  said. 
"  It  is  quite  the  proper  point  of  view  for  a 


POT  LUCK  157 

young  man.  As  for  this  belated  bachelor," 
— myself — "he  never  did,  nor  ever  will, 
think  rightly  on  the  subject." 

Bassishaw  looked  at  me  reproachfully. 
"I   didn't    mean — what    you   think   I 
meant,"  he  said  uncomfortably. 

"Forgive  me.  You  meant  much  more 
than  I  say  I  think  you  meant." 

"  I  meant — I  meant "  he  replied ;  and 

then,  apologetically,  "  well,  you  are  getting 
on,  you  know,  and  you  've  missed  so  much, 

really,  Kollo.     If  you  like  being  alone 

A  man  who's  never — you  don't  mind  my 
saying  it? — well,  he  doesn't  know,  that's 
all." 

Bassishaw  subsided  rather  incoherently, 
but  applied  himself  to  his  plate  with  con- 
viction. I  looked  at  Millicent,  who  glanced 
sidelong  fun  under  her  lids. 

"  What  you  say  is  pei*fectly  convincing 
as  a  proposition,  Arthur,"  she  remarked. 
"  The  man  who  's  Never — never  does  know ; 
but  the  application  is  another  matter. 
From  report,  there  were  hopes  for  Rollo 
Butterfield  that  he  has  failed  to  justify. 
He  flirted  notoriously." 


158  THE  COMPLEAT  BACHELOR 

"  Thank  you,  gracious  lady,"  I  replied 
complacently,  leaning  back  at  my  ease. 
"  That  is  the  name  the  world  gives  it." 

"  Your  conduct  with  Dolly  Hemingway 
was  shameless." 

"  Marriage  would  certainly  have  been  an 
illogical  conclusion,"  I  admitted. 

"And  Violet    Mellish   told   me   herself 


"Dear  little  Vi,"  I  approved.  "Her 
conversation  never  did  lack  the  relish  of 
revelation.  You  must  not  suppose,  Arthur, 
that  I  have  not  had  the  normal  past  that 
my  years  would  guarantee.  You  appear  to 
think  so." 

Bassishaw  didn't  seem  to  see  it  at  all. 
He  fumbled  with  his  fork. 

"I  expect  youVe  had  your  fancies,  of 
course,"  he  replied.  "  But  I  don't  mean 
just  fancies — that 's  only  flirting." 

The  man  who  cannot  flirt  never  sees  that 
the  power  to  do  so  is  a  gift  of  the  gods. 
Arthur  held  by  negative  constancy. 

"  Flirtation,"  I  replied,  "  is  not  the  simple 
affair  you  think,  Arthur.  It  is  not  nec- 
essarily a  matter  of  twilights  and  conserva- 


POT  LUCK  159 

tories,  and  does  not  even  always  demand 
privacy.  For  a  flirtation  with  zest  there  is 
nothing  like  having  an  audience.  Is  that 
not  so,  Millicent  ? " 

"  Spare  me  the  revelation  of  my  ignor 
ance,"  Millicent  returned,  moving  her  chair 
an  inch  or  two  from  the  now  importunate 
fire,  and  looking  over  her  shoulder.  "  It  is 
possible." 

"The  only  requisites  are  a  woman,  a 
secret,  and  as  many  spectators  as  have  not 
the  use  of  their  eyes,"  I  continued ;  "  those 
granted,  you  may  riot  in  innuendo,  and  your 
reputation  go  scatheless.  It  is  the  very 
button  on  the  cap." 

Bassishaw  could  think  of  nothing  more 
original  to  say  than  that  it  was  playing 
with  edged  tools.  Carrie  was  directing  the 
removal  of  plates  ;  I  devoted  my  attention 
to  Millicent. 

"  I  had  one  very  serious  fancy,  though, 
Millicent,"  I  remarked.  "Shall  I  tell 
you  ? " 

"  I  trust  it  is  not  unfit  for  the  children," 
she  replied,  looking  this  time  beneath  the 
flowers  at  Bassishaw.     "  The  knowledge  of 


160  THE  COMPLEAT  BACHELOR 

good  and  evil  from  your  point  of  view  might 
not  be  of  advantage  to  them." 

Caroline  looked  round  curiously. 

"  Oh,  Eollo,  what  was  that  ?  "  she  said. 
"  You  never  told  me." 

"  No  ? "  I  inquired  incredulously.  *^  And 
you  my  sister,  too  !  Ah,  well,  it  was  this. 
Summer  mornings,  at  seven,  I  used  to  go 
across  the  fields  with  a  bathing-towel ;  on 
my  return  I  was  generally  met  by — I  never 
mentioned  her  name." 

"  It  would  be  indiscreet,"  said  Millicent. 

*^  Discretion,"  I  answered,  "  is  the  better 
part  of  flirtation.  They  were  lovely  morn- 
ings, and  there  was  a  stile — a  rather  high 
stile — a  distinct  opportunity." 

I  looked  carefully  away  from  Millicent, 
and  turned  to  Bassishaw. 

"  Yes  ?  "  he  said  appreciatively.  "  And 
what  happened  ? " 

"  I  fancy,"  I  continued,  "  that  she  always 
met  me  on  my  side  of  the  stile,  so  that  we 
always  had  to  get  over  it." 

Bassishaw  seemed  to  approve  the  strategy. 

"  Nice  girl  ? "  he  asked. 

"She  combined,"  I  replied,  "the  harm- 


POT  LUCK  161 

lessness  of  the  dove  with  the  wisdom  of  the 
serpent,  for  she  used  to  feel  tired  when  we 
got  there,  and  rest.  There  was  just  room 
for  two." 

Caroline  was  interested. 

"And  when  was  this,  EoUo?"  she 
asked. 

"  My  dear  Carrie,"  I  returned,  "  you  had 
just  begun  German ;  you  were  at  school. 
Well,  this  woman  of  mine  would  pull  a 
flower  to  pieces,  or  light  a  cigarette  for  me, 
or  some  such  foolishness.  She  knew  the 
exact  distance  at  which  her  hair  would 
touch  my  face  if  it  were  a  little  tumbled. 
And  so  on." 

Millicent  made  the  criticism  that  the 
least  she  could  have  done  under  the 
circumstances  was  to  have  sprained  her 
ankle. 

"  And  who  was  it  ? "  Carrie  asked  eagerly. 

The  woman  who  presumed  to  condemn 
my  carrying-on  with  Dolly  Hemingway 
and  Violet  Mellish  sat  smiling  in  frank 
innocence.  She,  whose  ignorance  of  such 
matters  was  to  be  scrupulously  respected, 
sat  with  unconsciousness  on  her  brow,  and 


162   THE  COMPLEAT  BACHELOR 

gave  graceful  attention  to  my  story.  She, 
who  had  called  me  a  belated  bachelor,  who 
had  spoken  of  my  failing  years  and  my 
perspective  of  hesitating  singleness,  and, 
above  all,  whose  memory  needed  no  hint  as 
to  what  I  was  going  to  say,  dissembled 
without  a  quiver. 

"  Who  was  it  ? "  Caroline  repeated. 

"  The  name  is  the  least  essential  part  of 
the  affair,"  I  replied.  "  We  are  concerned 
with  the  stile." 

"  Yes,  the  stile,"  Millicent  said.  "  What 
happened  ? " 

"  Were  she  to  ask  me  herself,  I  should 
only  whisper,"  I  returned. 

She  leaned  back  and  laughed  outright. 
"  You  are  too  considerate  on  her  account 
to  make  the  story  very  interesting,"  she  re- 
marked. "  I  swear  I  could  finish  it  better 
myself.     One  day  you  tried  to  kiss  her." 

Millicent  had  chosen  the  hazardous  line 
of  safety.     She  had  told  the  truth. 

I  stole  a  glance  at  her  under  cover  of 
the  flowers. 

"  I  tried  not  to,"  I  replied. 

"  And  she  was  angry." 


POT  LUCK  163 

"She  did  her  best  to  be  angry." 

"She  was." 

"  Till  the  next  morning,"  I  answered. 

"  And  then  you  begged  her  pardon  ? " 

"  I  did  nothing  of  the  kind.  I  was  not 
so  young  as  all  that." 

"  But,  at  least,  you  were  sorry  ? "  Milli- 
cent  suggested. 

"  Not  from  that  day  to  this,"  I  replied. 
"  It  was  too  perfect." 

Millicent  moved  her  chair  a  little  further, 
and,  as  she  did  so — it  might  have  been 
done  purposely — you  never  can  tell  with 
Millicent — her  foot  touched  mine  gently; 
and  as  it  remained  there  a  moment,  I  felt 
more  like  Bassishaw  than  I  would  have 
cared  to  admit.  She  has  since  told  me,  I 
don't  mind  saying,  that  I  have  good  eyes  ; 
be  that  as  it  may,  the  mischief  in  her  own 
was  for  a  second  tempered  to  an  expression 
that — was  nobody's  business  but  mine.  I 
felt  tempted  to  forswear  my  theory,  and  to 
regret  the  presence  of  an  audience. 

She  rose  gaily. 

"  This  is  all  very  well,"  she  said,  "  but  it 
is  a  bad  thing  to  have  the  fire  at  youi^  back. 


164    THE  COMPLEAT  BACHELOR 

Be  good  enough  to  put  the  screen  up, 
Arthur." 

Arthur  did  so. 

"  But  the  story,"  Caroline  persisted 
impatiently — she  wanted  to  get  to  the 
reconciliation  with  tears.  "  How  does  the 
story  go  on  ? " 

"It  went  on,"  I  replied,  "in  much  the 
same  way.     It  is  not  quite  finished  yet." 

She  looked  a  virtuous  reproof. 

"  I  am  surprised,  Eollo,"  she  said,  "  that 
you  should  have  behaved  in  so  indiscreet 
a  fashion.  I  think  that  on  that  occasion  it 
was  just  as  well  there  was  nobody  there. 
/  should  be  exceedingly  sorry  to  witness 
any  such  proceeding.  It  would  make  me 
extremely   uncomfortable." 

I  laughed,  and  stroked  my  little  sister's 
hair. 

"  What  liqueur  will  you  take,  Millicent  ?  " 
I  asked. 


THE  THINGS  THAT  ARE  CESAR'S  165 


XIV 


THE  THINGS  THAT  AEE  C^SAr's 


Almost  the  whole  of  my  female  ac- 
quaintance seemed  to  be  gathered  in  my 
rooms,  and  seemed,  moreover,  to  be  doing 
its  collective  best  to  persuade  me  of  the 
superfluity  of  my  presence.  The  occa- 
sion was  the  eve  of  Caroline's  wedding,  and 
the  natural  interest  I  myself  took  in  the 
event  paled  before  the  engrossing  fascina- 
tion it  appeared  to  have  for  these  ladies. 
The  company  consisted  largely  of  Mrs. 
Loring  Chatterton ;  but  she  was  ably  sup- 
ported by  the  remainder  of  her  particular 
set  and  half  a  dozen  supernumerary  brides- 
maids, not  one  of  whom — with  the  excep- 
tion, perhaps,  of  a  quiet  little  creature  who 
sat  apart  and  said  nothing — ^but  would 
willingly  have  turned  me  out  of  house  and 
home  had  she  dared,  as  a  person  who  could 
perfectly   well  be  dispensed  with.     From 


166  THE  COMPLEAT  BACHELOR 

the  whispered  conversations  and  secret  con- 
ferences around  me  I  was  rigidly  excluded, 
which  I  regretted  the  more  as  I  felt  I 
should  have  taken  a  peculiar  pleasure  in 
them. 

"My  good  man,"  said  Mrs.  Loring, 
striding  over  my  feet  with  an  armful  of 
bridesmaids  '  frippery,  "  what  a  lot  of  room 
you  take  up  !  You  are  sure  you  have  no 
engagement  this  evening  ? " 

"  Nothing  of  importance,  Mrs.  Loring," 
I  replied,  looking  up  from  an  entry-book 
of  bridal  gifts  I  was  curiously  scanning, 
with  mental  notes  of  my  own.  "  You  may 
consider  me  entirely  at  your  disposal.  My 
duty  is  here  to-night  of  all  nights;  and 
when  you  and  Mrs.  Carmichael  can  spare 
Caroline,  I  also  have  certain  advice  to  give 
her  not  inappropriate  to  the  occasion." 

"  Don't  you  think  you  'd  better  go  and 
give  Arthur  the  benefit  of  your  wisdom  ? " 
she  rejoined. 

"Alas,"  I  replied,  "it  is  too  late — he 
cannot  draw  back  now.  He  must  take  the 
inevitable  consequences  of  engagement. 
He  has  made  his  bed " 


THE  THINGS  THAT  ARE  CJESAR'S  167 

"  1  see  no  reason  for  your  being  indelicate, 
Mr.  Butterfield,"  answered  Mrs.  Chatterton  ; 
and  she  rustled  away,  dignity  in  flounces. 

Never  had  my  flat  known  such  wealth  of 
plate  and  tissue-paper.  Had  Jupiter,  in 
wooing  Danae,  adopted  a  silver  currency, 
he  could  scarce  have  crowded  more  lav- 
ishly the  Grecian  tower.  Ladies  slipped 
in  and  out  of  the  miscellaneous  collection 
with  feminine  calculations  and  judgments, 
which  I  noted  in  secret  joy,  estimating,  ap- 
parently, the  whole  affair  in  its  comparison 
with  previous  functions.  And  above  all, 
and  more  insistent  from  their  very  quiet- 
ness, were  heard  the  mysterious  confabu- 
lations. 

I  crossed  over  to  Mrs.  Carmichael  and 
Caroline.  "  Well,  little  sister,"  I  said,  glanc- 
ing at  Mrs.  Carmichael,  "  and  what  unspeak- 
able things  has  Mrs.  Kit  been  telling  you 
now  ? " 

"Oh,  Rollo,"  she  replied,  placing  her 
hand  pleadingly  on  my  sleeve,  "  she  hasn't. 
Please  don't  tease  me  to-night,  dear.  I  am 
not  a  bit  happy.  I  almost  wish  I  was  not 
going  to  be  married." 


168  THE  COMPLEAT  BACHELOR 

"Then  she  has?"  I  returned.  "Mrs. 
Kit,  how  could  you  ?  But  there — you  're 
all  alike.  They  're  not  in  the  least  interested 
in  you,  Carrie,  my  dear.  It 's  just  a  wed- 
ding.    A  woman  and  a  bridecake " 

"  What  do  you  know  about  it  ?  "  Mrs- 
Carmichael  said  disdainfully. 

"  Madame,"  I  replied,  "  the  exultation  of 
your  sex  in  all  that  pertains  to  a  wedding 
is  barely  fit  for  the  contemplation  of  a 
bachelor.  Cannot  you  disguise  your  in- 
terest in  some  seemly  manner  ?  " 

"  If  you  '11  arrange  these  cards,"  she  re- 
torted, "  instead  of  concerning  yourself  with 
things  of  no  moment  to  you,  you  '11  be  of 
much  more  service.  Will  you  be  so  good 
as  to  label  these  presents — and  with  as 
little  talk  as  is  convenient  to  you  ?  " 

This  to  me,  mind,  in  my  own  house ! 
I  looked  to  Caroline  to  espouse  my  cause 
and  to  resent  the  outrage  on  my  feelings ; 
but  she  merely  looked  plaintively.  With 
a  sigh,  which  Mrs.  Kit,  calling  after  me^ 
qualified  as  "avoirdupois,"  I  tried  Mrs. 
Vicars,  who  was  fluttering  round  the  other 
end  of  the  glittering  table,  arranging  the 


THE  THINGS  THAT  ARE  CESAR'S   169 

nuptial  tribute  in  symplionic  harmonies 
of  the  Kensington  amateur  order.  Mrs. 
Vicars  is  aesthetic  at  a  street's  length,  and, 
as  Millicent  Dixon  had  once  spitefully  said, 
wears  her  art  upon  her  sleeves  for  Jays  to 
laugh  at.  She  was  placing  her  own  offer- 
ing, something  in  plush  and  oil  colour, 
modestly,  shrinkingly,  all  but  out  of 
sight. 

I  was  saying  something  about  the  spirit- 
ual reality  of  which  all  this  external  show 
was  but  the  outward  symbol,  when  she  cut 
me  off. 

"Oh,  Mr.  Butterfield,"  she  said,  "why 
did  Cissie  Bingham  give  Caroline  a  green 
fan  ? " 

"  Possibly,  Mrs.  Vicars,"  I  replied,  "  for 
the  same  order  of  reason  that  causes  a 
miller  to  wear  a  white  hat." 

"  But  a  green  one — how  horrid  !  Look 
at  her  complexion  ! "  And  she  bent  the 
trifle  coquettishly  round  her  chin,  with  a 
well-studied  sparkle  over  the  top  of  it — a 
lesson  in  feminine  Arts  and  Crafts. 

"  A  fan,  Mrs.  Vicars,"  I  replied,  "  may  be 
used  either  for  flirtation  or  concealment — 


170  THE  COMPLEAT  BACHELOR 

before  marriage.  Afterwards,  only  for  the 
latter.  In  either  case  the  appropriate- 
ness  " 

"  I  think  you  are  very  horrid,  Mr.  Butter- 
field,"  she  answered,  preening  the  openwork 
effervescence  of  her  corsage  and  turning 
her  shoulders  to  me  in  pique.  "I  believe 
Mrs.  Bassishaw  wants  you." 

I  tried  my  luck  with  Mrs.  Bassishaw, 
Arthur's  mother.  Mrs.  Bassishaw  is  a 
comely  widow,  as  young  as  is  compatible 
with  having  a  son  on  the  eve  of  marriage, 
and  still  possessing  what  her  friends  call 
"  excellent  chances."  She  made  a  place  for 
me  by  her  side. 

"  You  and  I  will  be  less  in  the  way  in 
this  corner,  Mr.  Butterfield,"  she  said,  "  and 
we  can  watch  the  young  people.  Doesn't 
this  make  you  feel  terribly  old  ?  I  declare 
I  feel  myself  ageing  already." 

She  passed  her  hand  over  her  glossy 
hair. 

*'  I  also  feel  it  keenly,  Mrs.  Bassishaw,"  I 
replied. 

"  And  only  think,  Mr.  Butterfield,"  she 
continued,  "  should — should  you  become  an 


THE  THINGS  THAT  ARE  CJESAR'S   171 

uncle,  I  shall  be  a  grandmother  !  Oh,  I  do 
hope  they  '11  be  comfortable — and  happy ! " 

"  I  have  not  a  doubt,  Mrs.  Bassishaw,"  I 
answered,  "  that  they  will  be  exceedingly 
comfortable — and  becomingly  happy." 

"  Only  that  ? "  she  inquired. 

"Is  not  that   a  good   deal?"   1  replied. 

"They  are,  I  believe,  made  for  each 
other ;  but  I  do  not  expect  anything  epic 
from  either  of  them,  nor  will  they,  so  far 
as  I  can  see,  mark  the  beginning  of  an  aeon 
in  the  annals  of  matrimony." 

"  You  are  very  hard  on  them,  Mr.  Butter- 
field — poor  things  ! "  she  answered — appar- 
ently because  I  had  not  granted  them  the 
beginning  of  an  seon.  Thus  does  one  suffer 
for  principle  !  I  rose  to  interview  an  auto- 
matic reporter  from  a  fashion  paper,  whom 
Mrs.  Loring  handed  over  to  me  with  a  re- 
quest to  be  good  enough  to  take  the  thing 
seriously.  I  told  him  that  the  presents 
were  numerous  and  costly,  including — here 
followed  a  list ;  and  crossed  over  to  a  knot 
of  frolicking  bridesmaids  that  was  gabbling 
millinery  in  one  comer. 

These  young  ladies    had  apparently  a 


172  THE  COMPLEAT  BACHELOR 

good  (leal  to  say;  and  prominent  among 
the  chatter  could  be  heard  Miss  Nellie 
Bassishaw's  voice  declaring  that  something 
or  other  of  hers  was  of  a  poorer  quality  of 
silk  than  some  one  else's  ;  which  was  always 
the  way,  she  remarked,  with  a  grown-up 
toss  of  the  head,  when  one  bought  six  gowns 
at  the  same  shop.  Miss  Flo  Bassishaw  and 
another  maid  were  talking  simultaneously, 
the  one  saying  that  the  organist  was  sure  to 
play  the  march  too  soulf uUy  for  it  to  be  of 
much  use  as  walking  music,  and  the  other 

that  old (a  respected  friend  of   mine) 

could  afford  to  give  cheap  salads  bowl  now 
that  he  had  married  all  his  daughters.  And 
above  all,  and  to  an  extent  that  was  an 
enlightenment  even  to  me,  the  pairing 
arrangements  for  the  breakfast  were  dis- 
cussed with  a  freedom  and  pointedness  that 
took  entire  precedence  of  any  other  signi- 
ficance the  occasion  might  have.  In  this 
theme  again  Miss  Nellie  revelled. 

"  I  don't  care,"  she  said,  "  I  shall  ask 
Carrie.  He 's  not  a  bit  too  old ;  and  I 
have  met  him  before — you  haven't.  I'm 
not  going  to  be  bored  to  death  by  Jack 


THE  THINGS  THAT  ARE  CJESAR'S   173 

Somers,  and  have  to  do  all  the  talking  my- 
self;  and  that's  my  decision,"  she  said 
irrevocably. 

"  We  shall  have  owr  hair  up  to-morrow, 
too,"  returned  Flo,  with  the  spiteful 
familiarity  of  a  younger  sister,  "and  I 
shall  hear  every  word  you  say,  because 
I  shall  be  on  the  other  side." 

"I  don't  know  why  they  ask  such  a 
crowd,"  another  half -blown  bud  of  sixteen 
joined  in.  "I  expect  Hollo  Butterfield 
went  to  school  with  most  of  them — 
they  're  old  enough." 

And  fat  enough — and  dull  enough — and 
bald  enough — the  poise  of  her  chin 
seemed  to  say.  I  admired  her  con- 
fidence. 

"  And  what  about ?  "  a  nod  of  Miss 

Nellie's  head  gave  the  direction  to  my 
eyes.  I  looked,  and  saw  apparently 
unheeded  by  the  noisy  group,  the  pretty, 
timid  creature  1  had  remarked  once  or 
twice  before,  an  imported  cousin  of  some- 
body's, condemned  to  wear  pink  because 
it  suited  the  rest.  She  was  out  in  the 
cold;  but    something    in    the    abstracted 


174   THE  COMPLEAT  BACHELOR 

quietness  of  lier  pose  told  me  it  was 
perhaps  as  mucli  from  choice  as  from  the 
passing-over  of  her  companions. 

"Oh,"  Miss  Flo  replied,  "she  can  go 
somewhere  near  Rollo  Butterfield — she  '11 
be  less  awkward  near  him  than  with  any- 
body else.     And  then  Jack  Somers." 

Seeing  myself  so  allotted,  I  thought  it 
well  to  make  the  acquaintance  beforehand 
of  the  maid  for  whose  conversational  flow 
I  was  to  be  responsible.  I  skirted  the 
group,  and  sat  down  by  her. 

"  I  see  you  're  taking  a  short  rest  from 
your  duties,  Aggie,"  I  remarked.  "  Are 
you  having  a  good  time  ?  " 

"Yes,  thank  you,  Mr.  Butterfield," 
she  answered  shyly.  "  I  think  it 's  all 
lovely." 

"  The  dresses  and  things  ?  "  I  asked. 

"No,"  she  replied,  turning  grey  eyes 
upon  me.  "  Mr.  Bassishaw  and  the 
wedding — and  Caroline.  The  presents 
don't  matter  much,  do  they,  Mr.  Butter- 
field?" 

I  looked  around  in  some  doubt. 

"I    don't   know,    Aggie,"    I   returned. 


THE  THINGS  THAT  ARE  C^SARS  175 

"  Every  one  apppears  to  think  a  good  deal 
of — that  sort  of  thing — except  you — and 
me.     I  think  we  shall  be  friends,  Aggie." 

"  Thank  you,  Mr.  Butterfield."  The  grey 
eyes  looked  into  some  middle  distance  that 
I  could  not  follow.  "Caroline  does  look 
nice,"  she  added,  making  an  admission  that 
for  some  reason  did  not  seem  easy  to  her. 
"But,  of  course,  she's  your  sister,  and 
brothers  do  not  think  of  that.  Young 
brothers,  I  mean." 

"  Your  brothers  are  young,  then,  Aggie  ? " 

"  Yes ;  and  they  say  no  one  will  ever 
want  to  marry  nie ;  but  that  is  when  I 
won't  be  tied  to  a  table  for  them  to  fight 
about — an  imprisoned  princess,  you  know. 
It  doesn't  matter — now,"  she  added,  half  to 
herself,  and  apparently  forgetful  of  my  pres- 
ence. 

"And  you  don't  like— all  this?"  I  in- 
quired, designating  the  surrounding  bustle 
witb  my  hand. 

"  No,"  she  replied  in  the  same  half -musing 
tone.  "  We  shouldn't  have  wanted  brides- 
maids and  things,  you  know. — Of  course  " 
— she  momentarily  remembered  my  position 


176   THE  COMPLEAT  BACHELOR 

— "it  ^s  all  lovely  ;  but  we  should  just  have 
gone  away  somewhere  and  not  have  had 
anybody  but  perhaps  a  maid.  We  shouldn't 
have  wanted  anyone  else,  you  know ;  and 
we  should  have  lived  there  ever  so  long. 
That  would  have  been  nice." 

She  was  scarcely  talking  to  me;  but  I 
replied : 

"  It  is  the  ideal  wedding,  Aggie,  although 
it  is  only  for  the  few — there  are  relations 
and  people.  I  trust  you  will  make  a  suc- 
cess of  it.  I  hope  you  will  allow  me  to  make 
you  a  present,  though  ? " 

She  raised  her  head  again  with  the  same 
remote  look.  I  noticed  a  fine  gold  chain 
round  her  neck,  the  end  of  which  disap- 
peared in  her  bosom. 

"  It  won't  ever  be  quite  the  same,"  she 
replied.  "  Perhaps  some  day  I  shall  have 
forgotten " 

I  looked  at  the  chain  and  spoke  quietly. 

"Is  that ?" 

"  Yes,"  she  replied,  her  hand  going  softly 
to  her  breast.  "  I  cut  it  out  of  a  group,  but 
he  didn't  give  it  to  me.  You  don't  mind 
if  I  don't  show  it  to  you,  do  you,  Mr.  Butter- 


THE  THINGS  THAT  ARE  C^SARS  17T 

field  ?  You  don't  know  what  it  is  to  lose 
anybody — like  that." 

"  You  forget  I  am  losing  a  sister,  Aggie," 
I  answered.  She  thought  a  moment,  and 
then  made  a  sudden  resolve.  She  spoke 
softly  and  almost  mechanically. 

"I  think  I  will  tell  you,  Mr.  Butterfield. 
I  wouldn't  tell " — she  looked  round — "  any 
one  else,  but — I  trust  you,  Mr.  Butterfield. 
I  haven't  given  Caroline  my  present  yet — 
I  haven't  made  up  my  mind.  I  've  got  two, 
a  handkerchief  case,  and — this.  I  could 
give  her  the  handkerchief  case — anybody 
can  give  handkerchief  cases — or  the  other. 
Anybody  wouldn't  give  the  other.  I  can't 
keep  it,  Mr.  Butterfield.     Look." 

She  glanced  round,  and  drew  the  small 
locket  from  her  neck  and  opened  it.  It 
was  Bassishaw's  portrait,  a  poor,  ragged 
production,  cut  out,  as  she  had  said,  from 
some  larger  picture.  I  half  glanced  at  it, 
understanding  without  looking. 

"  It  is  worth  more  than  a  handkerchief 
case,"  she  continued,  speaking  very  low, 
"  and  I  know  Caroline  would  value  it  more, 
if  I  told  her.     If  anybody  did  that  to  me  I 

12 


178  THE  COMPLEAT  BACHELOR 

should — I  should  love  them.  Wouldn't 
you,  Mr.  Butterfield?" 

I  made  no  reply.  Poor  Aggie!  She 
was  only  sixteen,  and  would  get  over  it; 
but  it  was  real  to  her,  and  she  was  very 
brave.     She  went  on  : 

"  And  that 's  why  I  don't  like  all  these 
things,  Mr.  Butterfield.  What  would  you 
do?" 

Mrs.  Carmichael  was  signalling  for  me 
across  the  room.  I  rose  and  took  Aggie's 
hand. 

"  My  dear,"  I  replied,  "  you  have  a  truer 
instinct  in  these  things  than  I.  Whatever 
you  do  will  be  right,  I  know ;  and  a  fat, 
blundering  man  would  spoil  it.  We  sit 
together  at  breakfast  to-morrow.  I  'm  very 
glad." 

And,  in  response  to  Mrs.  Carmichael's 
imperious  summons,  I  left  her  and  plunged 
again  into  the  general  bewilderment. 

Shortly  afterwards  I  heard  Mrs.  Vicars's 
voice. 

"  Oh,  look,  Caroline,  what  a  sweet  hand- 
kerchief case  Agnes  there  has  given  you ! " 


SETTLING  DAY  179 


XV 


SETTLmG  DAY 

Caeoline  was  married,  and  with  a  decent 
tear  had  left  for  a  month's  sweet  lunacy 
under  blue  skies  and  on  Mediterranean 
terraces.  I  had  bestowed  an  appropriate 
valediction  at  Victoria  Station  to  the  ac- 
companying exhalation  of  steam,  the  slam- 
ming of  doors,  and  the  waving  of  a  green 
flag,  and  had  returned  to  my  flat. 

It  had  not  appeared  quite  the  same  to 
me.  I  had  peeped  into  the  little  room 
that  had  been  so  long  her  own,  and  a  sense 
of  emptiness  and  unfamiliarity  had  struck 
me,  leaving  little  desire  to  make  friends 
Avith  it.  My  own  rooms  were  structurally 
unchanged;  but  a  corded  and  labelled 
trunk,  left  to  be  called  for  after  the  bridal 
trip,  seemed  to  occupy  the  whole  place  to 
my    utter    exclusion,   and    unsettled    me 


180  THE  COMPLEAT  BACHELOR 

greatly.  I  perceived  that  virtue  had  gone 
out  from  these  lifeless  shells  of  apartments  ; 
and  my  feline  attachment  to  the  building 
itself  was  not  sufficiently  strong  to  reconcile 
me  to  an  immediate  resumption  of  the  old 
order  of  things.  On  the  whole,  I  did  not 
waste  much  sentiment  over  the  matter,  but 
spoke  a  word  in  Mrs.  Loring's  ear,  received 
an  invitation  from  some  friends  of  hers  in 
the  country,  left  my  chairs  in  canvas  and 
my  blinds  in  full  mourning,  and  made  haste 
to  lawns  and  trim,  clipped  hedges  till  I 
should  summon  resolution  to  face  the  fresh 
conditions. 

This  gave  Mrs.  Loring,  a  certain  oppor- 
tunity which,  as  I  had  foreseen,  she  was 
little  likely  to  waive,  and  which  also  suited 
my  mood  admirably. 

Overhead  the  rooks  were  holding  their 
sage,  sustained  conference,  and  I,  I  believe, 
nodding  gravely  and  judicially,  when  an 
undefined  sense  of  intruding  mortals  caused 
me  to  blink  through  my  lashes.  Mrs.  Lor- 
ing and  Millicent  were  slowly  crossing  the 
lawn  in  my  direction,  their  white  gowns 
dipping  from  orange  to  grey  and  grey  to 


SETTLING  DAY  181 

orange  as  they  traversed  the  belts  of  light. 
Mrs.  Loring  was  talking  ;  this,  be  it  said, 
was  Mrs.  Loring's  supreme  opportunity. 

I  had  no  wish  to  listen  ;  it  was  forced  on 
my  passive  ears. 

"  I  suppose,"  she  was  saying,  "  now  that 
Caroline's  gone,  he  must.  I  know  that 
Cicely  Vicars  told  me  you  can  do  what  you 
like  with  a  man  who  feels  a  little  bit  soriy 
for  himself,  Millicent.     She  didP 

This  seemed  somehow  to  concern  me.  I 
had  doubtless  felt  somewhat  low,  but  had 
no  idea  I  had  showed  it  so  plainly  as  that. 
Anyway,  Cicely  Vicars  doubtless  knew. 
Millicent  replied  ; 

''\  don't  think  it's  fair,  MoUie,  to  talk 
like  that.  Kollo  Butterfield  isn't  a  fool; 
and  I  daresay  Charlie  Vicars  isn't  such  a 
fool  as  he  was — then." 

Thank  you,  dear  lady. 

"  He  isn't  a  fool,"  Mrs.  Loring  replied  ; 
"  but  I  do  call  it  criminal — simply  criminal 
— that  a  man  who  is  getting  older  and — fat- 
ter— every  week  should  keep  putting  oif 
and  putting  oif  for  no  reason  at  all  except 
that  he 's  ashamed  to  give  in  after  so  long. 


182  THE  COMPLEAT  BACHELOR 

It 's  rank  breach  of  promise.  /  know  Rollo 
Butterfield." 

These  were  hard  words  to  hear  of  one's 
self.  Apparently  Mrs.  Loring's  one  desire 
was  that  that  presence  of  mine — fat,  hang 
her  impudence  ! — should  hold  decently  to- 
gether through  a  marriage  service,  and 
run  to  seedy  corpulence  immediately  after- 
wards for  all  she  cared.  But  Millicent 
vindicated  me  nobly. 

"If  Rollo  Butterfield,  Mollie,  was  pre- 
pared to  marry  me  to  keep  me  in  counte- 
nance with  all  the  people  we  know,  I  'd 
never  let  him  propose  to  me — which  he 
hasn't  done,  by  the  way.  But  you  don't 
understand  him  a  little  bit.  He  's  not 
much  fatter,  my  dear,  saving  your  pres- 
ence, than  Loring;  and,  any  way,  he  '11 
be  a  young  man  when  Loring  's — you  un- 
derstand me.  And  you  can't  say  very 
much  more  to  me  on  the  subject,  Mollie." 

"  You  '11  have  to  propose  to  him  your- 
self, then,  Millie,"  said  Mrs.  Loring,  with 
a  worldly  shrug. 

"I  should  not  be  afraid  to  do  that," 
Millicent  retorted  defiantly. 


SETTLING  DAY  183 

"  I  should  like  to  be  there  when  it  hap- 
pened." Mrs.  Loring's  tone  expressed  the 
most  offhand  incredulity  in  the  affair  be- 
ing ever  definitely  settled.  There  was  a 
silence  as  they  approached  and  discovered 
my  presence. 

Now,  I  had  never  been  in  the  least  re- 
sentful of  Mrs.  Loring  Chatterton's  self- 
arrogated  responsibility  for  my  welfare 
and  Millicent's — it  had  always  been  too 
open  and  frank  to  be  regarded  as  inter- 
ference. But  in  that  moment  she  had 
given  me  a  hint  that  I  felt  half  inclined 
to  act  upon.  Suppose  she  really  were 
there  when  it  happened  ? 

I  rose  to  meet  them. 

"  Welcome,  dear  ladies,"  I  said.  "  You 
almost  caught  me  napping.  I  believe  I 
have  been  dreaming,  and  seemed  to  hear 
voices." 

I  looked  at  Millicent,  and  thought  she 
understood ;  but  it  did  not  occur  to  Mrs. 
Loring  that  I  might  have  overheard. 

"  You  dream  a  good  deal  nowadays,  Mr. 
Butterfield,  don't  you?"  she  said,  some- 
what acidulously. 


184   THE  COMPLEAT  BACHELOR 

"  I  fear,  Mrs.  Loring,"  I  replied,  "  that  I 
have  lately  done  it  to  an  extent  that  is 
almost  criminal." 

She  was  still  unenlightened,  but  I  saw 
that  Millicent  guessed.  I  made  places  for 
them  on  either  side  of  me,  but  Mrs.  Loring 
hesitated,  standing.  No  chance  is  too  triv- 
ial for  a  matchmaker. 

"  Sit  down,  Mrs.  Loring,"  I  said,  making 
myself  comfortable  just  out   of  the   sun. 

She  sat  down.     I  continued  : 

"  I  have  been  watching  the  sunset  here 
all  alone.  It  is  a  lovely  evening.  You  and 
Loring  have  doubtless  been  sitting  hand  in 
hand,  waiting  for  the  twilight  ?  No  ?  The 
surroundings  seem  to  call  for  that  kind  of 
thing  somehow,  don't  you  think  ?  " 

"I  'm  glad  to  hear  you  say  so,  Mr.  But- 
terfield.  I  have  hopes  of  you  even  yet. 
The  evening  certainly  inspires  such — such 
things — ^providing  they  are  strictly  en 
regleP 

"  Most  decidedly,"  I  assented ;  "  that  must 
always  be  understood.  I  admit  that  it  is 
a  delicate  matter — that  there  are  times 
when  even  the  most  permissible  caress  be- 


SETTLING  DAY  185 

comes  unseasonable,  just  as  at  others  an 
unseasonable  one  is  almost  permissible. 
But  as  a  general  rule  such  proceedings 
must  be,  as  you  say,  strictly  en  reghr 

'-'- 1  find  you  in  a  most  reasonable  mood 
this  evening,  Mr.  Butterfield,"  she  ap- 
proved, with  a  glance  at  Millicent. 
"  Dreaming  evidently  does  you  good.  Pray 
continue." 

I  acknowledged  her  encouragement,  and 
went  on. 

"  It  must  be  taken  for  granted,  first  of 
all,  that  the  endearment  is  a  hond  fide  gua- 
rantee, in  which  case  publicity  is  not  only 
unnecessaiy,  but  impertinent.  A  third 
person,  for  instance,  could  not  possibly  take 
the  slightest  interest  in  it." 

"  It  would  be  highly  unbecoming,"  she 
assented. 

"  Quite  so,"  I  replied  half  absently  ;  "  and 
that  is  where  the  kindly  interest  of,  say, 
the  married  chaperone  fails.  In  the 
moment  that  her  presence  becomes  most 
necessary,  it  becomes  superfluous.  Is  not 
that  so?" 

"If    you    mean,    Mr.  Butterfield,    that 


186  THE  COMPLEAT  BACHELOR 

I "  she  said,  making  a  movement  as  if 


to  rise. 

"  My  dear  Mrs.  Loring,"  I  replied,  "  we 
are  discussing  a  perfectly  abstract  question  ; 
you  appear  to  be  able  to  deal  only  with  a 
concrete  case." 

"Then,"  she  retorted,  "the  sunset  has 
done  you  less  good  than  I  thought.  An 
abstract  case  on  an  evening  like  this  !  " 

And  her  eyes  appeared  to  fill  with  pity 
for  Millicent.  That  lady  looked  up,  but 
said  nothing. 

"  It  is  on  such  evenings,  Mrs.  Loring,"  I 
returned,  "  that  nothing  but  the  presence  of 
the  chaperone  divides  the  abstract  from  the 
concrete." 

"  Then  you  do  mean "  she  said  almost 

impetuously. 

"  Does  it  occur  to  you,  Mrs.  Loring,"  I 
replied,  "that  you  are  speaking  with  re- 
markable freedom  ? " 

Mrs.  Loring  was  in  a  difficult  position. 
To  stay  was  to  nuUif}^  the  opportunity,  and 
to  postpone  indefinitely  (so  she  thought) 
the  consummation  of  her  disinterested  en- 
deavours.    To  leave,  on  the  other  hand,  was 


SETTLING  DAY  187 

a  hint  so  pointed  that  even  she  felt  it  might 
give  rise  to  an  embarrassment  that  would 
defeat  its  own  ends.  I  pointed  this  out  to 
her — of  course,  in  an  entirely  abstract  way ; 
and  Millicent,  I  was  pleased  to  see,  regarded 
the  comedy  with  an  amused  coolness  that 
had  in  it  very  little  sympathy  for  Mrs. 
Loring  Chatterton  and  her  methods.  She 
looked  up  laughing. 

"  It  would  be  rather  a  difficult  position 
for  any  chaperone  to  be  placed  in,"  she  said 
mischievously.     "  Wouldn't  it,  Mollie  ? " 

MoUie  was  rather  at  a  loss. 

"  A  chaperone's  is  a  difficult  position  al- 
together, Millie,"  she  said,  ^'  and  it  means 
considerable  self-sacrifice  on  the  part  of  the 
one  who  undertakes  it." 

"  It  is  a  thankless  office,"  I  replied ;  "  but 
in  the  case  of  impetuous  youth  I  suppose  it 
is  necessary.  Hot  blood,  Mrs.  Loring,  must 
be  watched." 

She  was  getting  puzzled,  and  evidently 
losing  her  hold  on  the  situation.  "  After 
all,"  she  answered  doubtfully,  "when  one 
has  confidence  in  people  perhaps  it  doesn't 
matter  so  much." 


188  THE  COMPLEAT  BACHELOR 

"It  is  dangerous,"  I  warned  her. 
"  When  young  recklessness  takes  the  bit 
between  its  teeth  and  plunges  headlong 
into  a  course  of  matrimony  " — Millicent 
smiled  at  the  description  as  applied  to  our- 
selves— "  some  calmer  ruling  is  almost  es- 
sential. Personally,  I  think  that  at  all 
proposals  an  appointed  authority  should 
conduct  the  ceremonies.  One  cannot 
manage  such  affairs  alone." 

She  didn't  quite  catch  the  suggestion. 
"  It  is  perfectly  unnecessary,"  she  replied. 

"  Indeed  ? "  I  asked.  "  And  suppose  the 
affair  hung  fire,  and  the  proposal  never 
came  at  all  ?  Imagine  the  sorrow  of  the 
Goddess  outside  the  Machine !  I  almost 
think  she  has  a  right  to  insist  on  personal 
supervision." 

"  I  think  you  are  talking  a  great  deal  of 
nonsense,"  she  replied. 

"  Then,  Mrs.  Loring,  you  fail  to  follow 
me.  Take  a  case,  say,  in  which  the  woman 
proposes — I  suppose  you  will  admit  the 
possibility — the  man  might  be  a  fool — or 
dilatory — or  getting  fat " 

Mrs.  Loring  Chatterton  turned  suddenly 


SETTLING  DAY  189 

on  me,  looked  me  up,  down,  widthwise,  and 
through,  and  found  no  speech.  I  returned 
her  look,  and  Millicent  broke  into  unre- 
strained laughter.  The  light  that  came  to 
the  Goddess  outside  the  Machine  was  too 
much  for  her  coherence. 

"  RoUo  Butterfield — and  you,  too,  Milli- 
cent Dixon  !— Millicent— Mr.  Butterfield, 
how  dare  you,  sir?  You  listened?  I 
didn't  say  it!" 

"  You  didn't  say — what,  Mrs.  Loring  ? " 
I  asked. 

"  Oh,  don't  take  the  trouble  to  feign  in 
nocence  !  I  always  thought,  Mr.  Butter- 
field— !  I  never — stop  laughing,  Millicent 
this  is  not  a  farce — I  didn't  think,  Mr.  But 
terfield,  that  you  would  use^  at  least,  any 
thing  you  heard  in  so  discreditable  a  man 
ner ! " 

"  Mrs.  Loring,"  I  answered,  "  I  did  not 
listen.  I  was  dreaming — dreaming  does  me 
good — and  I  heard  the  rooks  calling,  and 
several  other  things,  quite  against  my  will. 
Besides,"  I  added,  "  if  you  will  consider  a 
moment,  don't  you  think  I  was  too  deeply 
concerned  in  your — friendly  aspersions — 


190  THE  COMPLEAT  BACHELOR 

not  to  have  some  kind  of  right  in  them  ? 
I  wish  to  put  the  thing  euphoniously,  you 
understand,  Mrs.  Loring,  but — haven't  you 
interested  yourself  too  long  in  what  con- 
cerns me  first  of  all,  to  take  up  any  position 
of  outraged  propriety  now  ?  " 

I  awaited  her  reply,  my  eyes  on  her  face. 
I  should  have  been  sorry  to  fall  out  with 
Mrs.  Loring ;  I  had  had  too  much  amuse- 
ment out  of  her  to  take  her  too  seriously, 
and  I  recognized  that  meddling  was  too 
harsh  a  word  for  her  conduct.  For  a  full 
minute  she  sat  looking  straight  in  front  of 
her,  and  then  smiled.     All  was  well. 

"  I  'm  sorry  for  you,  Millicent,"  she  said. 
"  For  the  first  time  I  have  doubts  as  to  your 
happiness  with  this — creature.  I  may  yet 
have  to  repent  that  ever  I  gathered  you 
both  under  my  wing.  Rollo  Butterfield, 
you  think  I  'm  laughing,  but  I  'm  not.  I 
haven't  forgiven  you." 

"You  reserve  your  forgiveness,  Mrs. 
Loring,  till  no  further  evasion  is  possible. 
You  are  still,  permit  me  to  remind  you, 
premature." 

I  looked  at  Millicent,  whose  face  ex- 


SETTLING  DAY  191 

pressed  the  greatest  relish  for  the  whole 
scene.  Millicent  understood,  and  cared  ^s 
little  for  Mrs.  Loring's  presence  as  I  did 
myself.  A  new  recklessness  took  posses- 
sion of  me ;  so  long  as  she  knew,  I  didn't 
give  a  schoolgirl's  kiss  what  happened. 
Mrs.  Loring  was  making  uneasy  motions, 
and  had  attempted  several  false  starts, 
with  the  object  of  leaving  us  alone.  I 
took  Millicent's  hand,  imprisoned  it  in  both 
my  own,  and  looked  squarely  at  Mrs.  Lor- 
ing. She  sat  spellbound,  fascinated,  a  wed- 
ding guest  who  could  not  choose  but  hear. 

"  Millicent "  I  said,  and  paused. 

"  Kollo "  she  replied. 

Mrs.  Loring  made  another  attempt  to 
break  away. 

"  Sit  in  the  middle,  Mrs.  Loring,"  I  said, 
and  we  made  the  rearrangement.  I  turned 
again  to  Millicent. 

"  Mrs.  Loring  says  you  are  to  propose  to 
me,  Millicent." 

"  Mrs.  Loring  says  you  would  be  ashamed 
to  give  in  after  so  long,  Rollo." 

"  You  are  afraid,  Millicent,  that  I  shall 
say  it 's  sudden  ? " 


192  THE  COMPLEAT  BACHELOR 

"  I  am  not  afraid  of  anything  that  you 
will  say.  Or  do,"  she  added,  as  I  took  her 
hands  across  Mrs.  Loring. 

"  Then,"  I  replied,  ^^  I  have  the  honour  to 
ask  you.  Miss  Dixon " 

This   was  too   much   for  Mrs.   Loring. 

She  burst  through  our  hands,  and  stood, 

trembling,   staring,  lost,  hysterical.     Then 

fled. 

***** 

When  the  moon,  a  timid  debutcmte  in  a 
faint  sky,  rose  behind  the  clipped  box- 
hedge,  we  were  still  in  the  arbour,  Milli- 
cent  and  I.  One  of  her  hands  shone  with 
an  unaccustomed  jewel — it  had  been  my 
mother's  ring — and  her  other  was  in  my 
personal  and  private  keeping. 

"  I  believe,  RoUo,"  she  said,  "  that  you 
are  still  little  more  than  a  boy." 

"Millicent,"  I  replied,  "I  realise  less 
now  than  ever  the  prospect  of  being  grown 
up.  I  am  merely  grown  out — though 
scarcely  more  so  than  Loring,"  I  added. 

She  laughed  at  the  recollection. 

"  And  you  didn't  mind  proposing  to  me  ? " 
I  said. 


SETTLING  DAY  193 

"  I  shouldnH  have  minded  proposing  to 
you,  KoUo,  had  you  not " 

"  Did  I  propose  to  you,  then,  Millicent  ? " 

"I'm  sure  I  don't  know,"  she  replied. 
"  Perhaps  Mollie  had  her  wish  after  all." 

Anyway,  it  didn't  make  much  differ- 
ence. 


THE  END. 


RETURN               MAIN  CIRCULATION 
TO^ 

ALL  BOOKS  ARE  SUBJECT  TO  RECALL 
RENEW  BOOKS  BY  CALLING  642-3405 

DUE  AS  STAMPED  BELOW 

pJ«.    7/^)^5- 

1 

UNIVERSITY  OF  CALIFORNIA,  BERKELEY 
FORM  NO.  DD6                                BERKELEY,  CA  94720 

(S3845L)497b 


.General  Library 

University  of  California 

Berkeley 


YB  bb I  M 
U.C.  BERKELEY  LIBRARIES 

iiilPIII 

CDD7DDMDa3 


y 

|yi2333QS 

iony 

THE  UNIVERSITY  OF  CALIFORNIA  UBRARY 

